


Nine Days Till Christmas

by RurouniHime



Series: Nine Days series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Best Friends, Christmas, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Crush, Dating, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Family, First Kiss, Friendship, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, M/M, Magic, Pining, Post - Order of the Phoenix, Psychological Trauma, Quidditch, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry decides to be very straight-forward about what he wants. Unfortunately, the answer he gets is more than a little disappointing. Now he has nine days to turn things around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in nine days leading up to Christmas several years back. The fic has since been edited and reposted.

**DAY ONE: December 16th**

 _Step 1: Ask him._

 _Great Hall, 12:37 PM_

Draco spluttered and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "Excuse me, Potter?"

Thank goodness the Great Hall was at its noisiest during lunch, because this was not going as well as Harry had hoped. He took a deep breath and smiled at the Slytherin sitting in front of him. "I just asked you if you would like to—"

Draco snorted, an odd smile twisting his lips. "I heard you, believe me. And my answer is no."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Draco glanced around and ducked closer, folding his arms in front of him over the table top. "No, Potter. And… for Heaven's sake, did you have to pick this place to ask me this?"

Harry looked around as well and then frowned at Draco. "Oh, come on. I waited until your housemates left. And it's not that big a deal. You needn't look as if I just asked you to jump in front of a train at King's Cross."

Draco smirked at him and sat back, taking a long swig of his pumpkin juice. "Look, Potter—"

"What the hell is with you calling me 'Potter' again?" Harry fought the deepening frown on his face. His stomach was beginning to hurt. He reached out and grabbed Draco's sleeve, gripping the fabric tightly. "You were the one who suggested referring to each other by our given names, remember?"

Draco looked at Harry's hand holding his sleeve and a flush began to work its way up from his collar. He cleared his throat and set his mug down, flicking his eyes about nervously. "Look, _Harry_. It's not that I don't like hanging out with you. You're rather a fun person, as weird as that is. And you make a good Potions partner. God, listen to me, I can't believe I'm actually saying this about you. But I'm not a… pouf."

Harry let go of his sleeve abruptly. "Draco, I was only—"

Draco stood quickly, smoothing the front of his blue button-down shirt with one hand. He smirked down at Harry, pity flickering in his eyes. "Not sure why you'd even think that— I don't swing that way. Sorry if you do, but it's not really my problem, is it? Let's just let this go, shall we?" With a brief smile, Draco walked away, shaking his head. Harry watched as he signaled to Blaise Zabini and the two of them left the Great Hall.

Harry's stomach knotted and heaved all in one smooth snide moment. The amused laughter behind Draco's words stung in his ears and he looked around hurriedly, hoping no one had overheard their exchange. Odd. Draco had been doing the same thing, but for an entirely different reason. Luckily, everyone was yammering away, the carefree sense of approaching Christmas holidays putting a merry edge that was usually absent on the conversation. His stomach jumped again as Draco's expression reappeared in his mind: he'd looked as if he were eyeing an interesting insect. Pity, and amusement.

With a jerk, Harry stood and began to walk. He heard Hermione call him as he passed near where she and Ron were sitting, but he kept going until he was outside the hall, up the stairs, and safely inside the Common Room. He went up to his dormitory and sat on his bed. His high spirits had evaporated, and all he could see was Draco's shaking head as he walked away.

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Step one had failed. Miserably.

* * *

 _Step 2: Wonder if listening to friends would not have been such a bad idea_

 _Gryffindor Common Room, two hours prior_

"Harry… I don't know if this is such a good idea."

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously. "Hermione! You were the one who was only just saying how silly it was to be pining after him in silence! Now I tell you I'm going to do something about it and you change your tune completely?"

Hermione sighed and wrung her hands. "Of course I'm not changing my tune, Harry! I just… I'm wondering if perhaps you may be moving a bit too fast. I mean, let's just say that you are wrong about it all. Maybe you should give it more time."

Harry scoffed. "What, and wait for some deus ex machina to come along? Hope he gets stoned and confesses to me out of the blue? Pray some radical mistake in Potions reveals to him how he feels about me? Oh, I know. A Quidditch accident wherein I get hurt and he suddenly realizes how bad it would be to lose me without confessing his true feelings. Trust me Hermione, that doesn't happen in real life."

Ron stood up and paced around the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "But Harry… and let's pretend I don't have a problem with the git and wouldn't in fact like to see him flummoxed beyond all belief… what if he says no? What if Hermione's right and he doesn't really… like you like that?"

Harry watched his friend, trying to quell the reservations bubbling up at Ron's words. "Look, Ron, I know you don't like him. And I don't ask you to. He was a right arse-hole to you for six years. But even you can't say that he hasn't changed. He's been cordial to us, and friendly… certainly friendly to me. And it's not like I'm asking him to marry me or anything. Just to… go out. Give it a shot. I don't think I'm too far off base here. At the Three Broomsticks last weekend, he was absolutely cheerful, and he kept laughing and touching my arm—"

"Harry, he was trying to help you wipe up the Butterbeer you spilled."

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "Hermione, I just don't want to hide my feelings anymore! I like him. Is that so weird? I can't sleep very well anymore because it's been bugging me, and I just… need to get it out. I'm not going to jump all over him. He wouldn't go for that. And he'd want me to be discreet anyway. I have a whole plan, trust me."

Hermione rose and, pushing her hair behind her ears, came over to stand next to him. She placed her hand on his arm. "I know, Harry. It's just… you've only just come out to us this past summer. And we've been your friends forever, and you simply don't know if Mal— Draco likes boys at all. I don't… Harry, we don't want you to get hurt."

Ron was looking at him from over by the window of the Common Room, a frown marring his features. Harry patted Hermione's hand. "Listen, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I would rather just… know, at this point. I think of him as a friend now. I think there's a chance it could be more. And I'm going to go nuts unless I do something about it."

His friends looked at each other for a long moment. Harry could see Hermione pleading silently with Ron. Ron glared at her and then shook his head. "Fine. Fine, ask him. God knows you've had a crush on him forever."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please, Ron. It's only been a month."

Ron rolled his eyes back at her before turning to Harry. His mouth was set in a grim line, and he raised a pointed finger to jab at Harry's chest. "Just get this straight, Harry. I don't care how deeply you're in love with him or whatever; he hurts you, I'm going to hex his hazy grey eyes right out of his face."

* * *

 _Step 3: Plotting the counterattack_

 _Gryffindor Common Room, 2:52 PM_

"Bloody hell, I'm going to hex his hazy grey eyes right out of his face!"

Hermione frowned. "Ron, calm down! Stop pacing and waving your wand around like that, you're likely to transfigure yourself into a newt or something."

Ron jabbed his wand in Harry's direction where he was curled up next to Hermione on the couch. "See? I told you he wasn't worth it! And didn't I say he'd do this to you? Didn't I? Bloody sniping prat, always has to think about himself. Stupid wanking Slytherin arse-hole—"

A jet of red light shot from Ron's wand and toppled a vase of daisies on one of the Common Room tables, narrowly missing Harry's head in the process. Hermione gasped and fumbled for her own wand. "Accio wand!" Ron's wand jerked from his fingertips and sailed across the room, landing in her open palm.

"Hey!" Ron started forward. "Give that back! I have an appointment to keep with a certain finicky stuck-up brat—"

" _Ronald!_ Shut up!" Hermione glared at him. "Think about Harry, please!"

Ron subsided, blinking, and just stood there for a moment clenching his fists. Then he heaved a great sigh and came over, settling onto the couch on the other side of his best mate. "Sorry, Harry."

Harry smiled at him half-heartedly. Hermione looked down at her hands.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. We had no idea he'd act like that."

"I did," Ron muttered darkly. Hermione shot him a look before focusing on Harry again.

"But I think the best thing to do is just… tell him to forget about it. You said you wanted to keep him as a friend. I don't think he wants anything different. What he said doesn't sound to me like he hates you or anything so silly. I think maybe he just…" She cast about for words.

"Doesn't like blokes?" Harry offered. She stared at him, startled, and then lowered her eyes.

"Well…"

Harry heaved a sigh of his own and sat up, tucking his knees beneath his chin. "I don't think he's straight. I mean… I've never seen him with a guy but then, I haven't seen him with a girl either lately."

"What are you talking about?" Ron demanded. "He's bloody well known for how smooth he is in bed—"

Harry shook his head. "No, that's just talk. He told me. Rather likes it, really, letting people think he's so… you know."

"Wait, wait." Hermione stopped him. "Harry, when did he tell you this?"

"Over Halloween. You know, that party, when Hagrid practically bought out Honeydukes and Dumbledore gave the seventh years Friday off. We were sitting there against the far wall in the corner of the Great Hall drinking Butterbeers and he was fuming about how Lavender Brown is always hanging all over him. And of course I thought that was hilarious, considering his rep, but he just leaned over and whispered that it was all a farce, but if I told anyone he'd bloody well make sure my next potion exploded in my face. I've never seen him so happy as he was that night. His eyes were sparkling, more like crystals than ice. And he has a dimple, did you know? In his left cheek. I think that was the night I—"

Harry stopped short. He shut his mouth and hugged his knees closer, staring over the tops of them at the wall. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and just rubbed his back. Ron eyed him sadly.

"Well… Harry, I think that Hermione's right. It's obvious that he doesn't feel the same way. I think if you just tell him you still want to be friends though—"

Harry shook his head and stood up abruptly. "No. I'm not giving up. There are too many inconsistencies. I just need to alter my plans a bit."

"What?" Hermione stood with him, peering at him. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"It would be too hard to explain it all, but I just know this isn't it. Little things, Hermione. Little things he does, things he says… I don't know exactly why I think this but… I think he likes me. And I just need to… approach it from a different angle. That's all."

"Harry—"

But Harry was pacing the room much as Ron had been. His face was excited now, the previous sadness having disappeared. "Look, he doesn't hate me. Maybe I just need to make him think about me in a different light."

"I think you… already did," Ron muttered, frowning. But Harry only smiled at him. He'd found his second wind.

"New plan. Just needs a few changes. Tomorrow I'm stepping it up. And by Christmas… well, it's only seven days until he leaves for holiday."

"But what if he won't talk to you, Harry?" Hermione blurted, and then slapped a hand over her mouth, looking chagrined. Harry didn't notice.

"Hmph. If he could use my shoulder for a pillow during that Halloween party, he can certainly talk to me now." He smiled winningly at them both and marched out of the Common Room up to the boy's dormitory. Hermione blinked and then glanced at Ron.

"What he just said, Ron, you don't think that he's—"

"Look, for all I know, the ferret was drunk that night. I can think of a couple people who were." Hermione turned beet red and Ron grinned at her. Then he looked after Harry and scowled worriedly. "Don't you dare get his hopes up. I'm not believing a thing until I see it."

~tbc~


	2. Day Two

**DAY TWO: December 17th**

 _Step 4: Rephrasing the question_

 _Charms hallway, 11:30 AM_

Harry waited until Draco’s charms class had just ended and the seventh years began filing out. Draco did not exit until after almost everyone else, still tucking his shoulder bag flap shut in what Harry considered to be very un-Slytherin-like-concern-in-front-of-others. He fell into step just behind the other young man with a wide smile pasted onto his face. He didn’t know if he could handle another royal brush-off from his tentatively friendly schoolmate, but he figured if he could just start talking first, maybe he stood a chance of getting the boy to listen to him.

As luck would have it, he did manage to speak first. As luck would not have it, Draco gave an exasperated growl at the exact same moment and stopped dead in the hallway, jerking at the clasp of his shoulder bag. Harry plowed right into him, knocking the Slytherin off balance. Draco gave an undignified squeak His bag slipped from his shoulder and he stumbled forward a few steps, whirling to see what had hit him. His face split into what Harry was sure was a smile before Draco blinked and nervousness flooded his features. He glanced around, but the hallway was fast emptying for lunch.

“Harr- Potter. What the hell are you doing?”

Harry bent and picked up the fallen book bag, holding it out to Draco. “I— um… Have a good Charms class?”

Draco took the bag from him slowly and resettled it over his shoulder. He looked like he couldn’t decide how to look. His face kept struggling to situate itself into its normal blankness. Harry plowed on. Speaking. Yes, step four required much in the way of that if step five were ever going to occur.

“Draco, I just wanted to tell you I may have been a bit… forward yesterday.”

Draco smirked. “Understatement, Potter. But I forgive you. Your Gryffindorish tendencies must have taken over. You really should be more careful with those.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, that _must_ be it. Listen, Draco, I just… wanted to try this again. What I really meant to say.”

Draco crossed his arms, the smile tugging at his lips making him look much more at ease. He turned and jerked his head for Harry to follow him. “Well, come on then, I’m bloody starving. If you think you can manage before the Great Hall, then by all means, illuminate me as to your real intentions.”

Harry fell into step beside him, shoving his hands into his robe pockets. “Alright, so… perhaps my question was a little too sudden. I mean, we’ve only really been friends for a few months.”

Draco nodded. “Have to say though, it never would have occurred to me before last summer that I’d ever call you my friend.”

Last summer Voldemort had been defeated. Harry did not like to remember it, and usually snapped at anyone who brought it up but… Draco had been right there. He’d seen everything Harry had seen, all the bodies, the flying spells. He’d even been hit with several and Harry’s attempts to extricate the woven magic from the Slytherin’s body right there in the middle of the battlefield were images and sounds that still jerked him awake at night, gasping and scrabbling for his wand. Draco knew about the battle. Harry had thought that if there was anyone besides Hermione and Ron whom he would have allowed to talk about it in front of him, it would be Draco. But there was something Harry knew about that Draco didn’t. Draco could not possibly have felt what Harry did when he raised his wand in front of Voldemort and—

Harry shook the thought away with a jerk, feeling his skin going clammy. Draco frowned at him quizzically. “What?”

Harry gave him a watery grin. “It is rather funny, isn’t it? I mean, you and I, friends.”

Draco graced him with a small quirk of his lip. He continued to walk without answering. Harry licked his lips. This part would be delicate, but if he could manage it…

“I was just thinking that I’d like to know you better, that’s all.”

Draco halted mid-step and looked at him mutely. Harry watched his eyes rove the hallway again. When they didn’t find anyone, they settled back on him. “Harry, I told you yesterday, I don’t—”

“Calm down, don’t jump to conclusions.” Harry sighed, only half-faking the exasperation. “I understand what you said. I was just thinking that… I want us to hang out a little more, and it came out wrong yesterday.”

It twinged to say that, to lie like that. Harry’d thought he had it planned out perfectly, but he hadn’t counted on the Draco-factor. It seemed he never did. He watched Draco plaintively, looking for some sign of the pity from the day before, the look that made knots in his stomach just thinking about it. Draco looked back warily. His grey eyes, the ones Ron wanted to hex from his head, searched him and Harry found himself thinking that he would undoubtedly have to kill Ron should his friend ever attempt such a horrible endeavor.

Finally Draco let out a breath. “Well… what did you have in mind then, Potter?”

“First off, stop calling me ‘Potter’. You’ve already abused that privilege quite enough over the last twenty-four hours.”

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth but Harry beat him to it. “Second, I don’t want a date or anything. I just want to hang out more. Talk. Do things. Friend-things,” he added hurriedly, seeing a weird glint in Draco’s eyes.

“Like go to Hogsmeade?”

Harry smiled, relieved. “Yeah, that’s an option.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Have a drink in the Three Broomsticks?”

“Yeah.” Well, it seemed Draco was not going to be as argumentative as he’d thought.

"Isn’t that kind of like ‘a date or anything’?” Draco said sarcastically.

Okay, backing up. Harry sighed, feeling his stomach begin that familiar ache. “Jeez, Draco, not if you don’t want it to be.”

Draco smirked. “I already said I—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it! Look, we only have a few days before everyone leaves for hols. I just want you to try hanging out with me until then. See how it goes. I’ll even buy your food at Hogsmeade if we go. And if you’re not into it, then… I won’t bug you about it anymore.”

Draco eyed him, his blond hair falling over his forehead. He seemed about to say something, even opened his mouth slightly, and then changed his mind. He tossed his head, flicking his hair out of his eyes, and smirked again assuredly. “This better not be some sort of timed attempt to get me to like you like that. Because it won’t work. I don’t like boys.”

 _Yes, you do keep saying that,_ Harry thought. He smiled back winningly, trying to force down the guilty feelings surfacing at Draco’s most accurate guess of what he was up to. “Just eight days, Draco. Give me eight days.”

Draco pursed his lips and considered. Harry could see him bending, knew his moods well enough to recognize the initial signs. The blond boy sighed through his nose and curled his lip. “Fine. We’ll get more _friendly_. But I swear, Harry, if you try to put a different spin on this to your little friends—”

“Oh, for god sakes, _Malfoy._ I’m not a bloody Slytherin, am I?”

Draco laughed, clearly no longer nervous in the slightest. “That’s what I’m counting on, _Harry._ ” He turned and continued walking, still chuckling, with Harry grinning to himself behind him.

* * *

 _Step 5: Snagging a potions partner_

 _Potions classroom, 2:15 PM_

Harry had been looking forward to the possibility of partnering with Draco for Potions class. Well, okay, maybe “looking forward to” was not entirely correct. Actually, his stomach was jumping like crazy, full of frogs and butterflies, and frogs eating butterflies, and…

To put it quite simply, the idea of popping back up to the dorm room for a nice long hide-under-the-covers nap was looking mighty appealing.

It wasn’t that he was having second thoughts. Oh, no. Draco was definitely still at the top of Harry’s list. It was just that… somewhere in that morning’s conversation of half-truths and rewordings, Harry had reset the boundaries of their relationship. Draco had come along willingly for the most part, but the part the Slytherin could not possibly see was that Harry had nosed himself into something of a corner.

He had what he wanted: Draco was going to give him over a week. A week of being with him, of hanging out, of learning more about him… Only there was a price, and that was that Harry could not just… say what he wanted to say anymore. Everything had to be thought through, analyzed, reconsidered, or Draco might see it as a direct come-on and bolt. After all, Harry had promised just friendship. And now the very idea of what a slip-up could mean was driving him nuts.

And to top it all off, Snape was in bastard mode that day.

"I do not enjoy repeating myself,” Professor Snape said, a snarly undercurrent to his bland words, “but it seems as though half of you have conveniently forgotten the fact that you have a Potions project due before you depart for the holidays. Now, as much as I would relish the opportunity to keep you in this very classroom for the week you have away from school, I have other more important things to attend to. Writing your final exams, for instance. Therefore, you will partner up immediately if your _already decided project_ ” – he glared beadily at the quiet students in front of him – “calls for it, and make some headway in what I am certain will be a huge disappointment to everyone involved.”

Harry gulped and glanced over at Draco. The Slytherin sat with his hands carefully folded over his pristinely situated notebook, looking serene as a sphinx. Harry’s project – and yes, for once it had been previously decided upon – did not require a partner. Not that he could not have used one. The thing was, he really wanted a chance to get Snape where it hurt, and that meant, now that the war was over, proving that he could excel in Potions just as well as the Slytherins. And _that_ meant he had to do this alone. The idea had been rather appealing earlier in the term; Harry had been so determined to wipe that knowing smirk off Snape’s face that he had actually pounced on researching the different complex mixtures he could manage to find ingredients for back when the Professor had first given the assignment sometime in late October. But now… Harry was faced with a week left and barely anything to show for his trouble.

He was half tempted to ask Draco to help him. But what _was_ he on about? Draco probably had his project completed already, had most likely mixed several back-up potions of varying components and affects just waiting for Snape to test and praise and gloat over to anyone who would liste—

“Potter! You don’t have to stare at me like that. Just say whatever you are using my appearance to contemplate already.”

Harry jerked and refocused his eyes. Draco was scowling at him impatiently from over the top of his cauldron. Harry blinked and sat up, pulling his textbook toward him absently. He flipped a few pages in before remembering that what he was looking for was not in that book.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Draco peered at him searchingly, and his eyes widened.

“Oh for— you want me to partner with you, don’t you? In the spirit of our new friendliness? Bloody hell…”

Harry flushed and shook his head, reaching down to obtain his bag of ingredients from his pack. At least he could be truthful in this instance. “Well, I’d considered asking. But… I don’t want you to feel too weird about everything. You set the pace. I only just threw this whole thing at you a few hours ago. I’m quite all right working alone.”

Draco stared at him, then nodded jerkily and turned back to his own workspace. Harry sighed, cast a quick spell to ignite flames under his cauldron, and began dumping base ingredients in. He’d measured carefully while still in his defeat-Snape fervor. Measured over and over actually, in his dorm room, until Neville had gone into hysterics about the test he was certain was scheduled for the next class session. He would have just enough time to simmer these ingredients before class ended. That is… providing he could add them in the correct order. He got his notes out of his pack and spread them before him, reading as he smoothed the slightly crinkled page. He’d copied them directly from a book on reserve in the library.

 _Feverfew, cut into small strips. To be supplemented with finely diced mugwort stalk and boiled for exactly one minute three seconds in spring water from the Andes mountain range. Immediately add powdered Snoffula grass in small steady pinches, taking care to lower the heat gradually. Allow to simmer for one hour. Remove from heat immediately and let sit for one day in cool dry place._

Harry popped the feverfew in the pot and began dicing his mugwort stalk before remembering that his small flask of Andes spring water still sat stoppered in front of him. With a hiss, he jerked the cork free and dumped it in. The liquid sizzled on the hot surface of the cauldron, but the feverfew did not look burned at least. He went back to the mugwort, and added it without mishap.

He set his watch.

It was about then that Snape came gliding up to peer over his shoulder. Harry tensed, trying to keep his mind on the rapidly ticking second-hand. He waited breathlessly as Snape read his sheet of directions, preparing himself for the taunt that he just knew was coming. But the man read…. read again… glanced into his cauldron, then down at Harry… and snorted. And walked away, shaking his head, eyebrow cocked derisively. Harry’s mouth dropped. _What?_ he wanted to shout. _What is it? Did I measure wrong? Or are you just being a prat as usual? Dammit, say something, don’t just make a sound and not tell me exactly how you think I will fail this time!_

His watch went off.

With a gasp, Harry smacked at the button, trying to get the beeping to stop, while at the same time pulling the vial of powdered Snoffula toward him. He picked out several clumps with shaky fingers and began to drop them in. The broth in the cauldron bubbled alarmingly and Harry froze, afraid of the weird hissing pops his potion was exuding. His fingers dangled over the cauldron, unwilling to release the pinch of Snoffula they held.

"Oh, budge over, Potter, you’ve no way with cauldrons.”

Harry jerked his head up to see Draco leaning over him. How long he had been there reading the directions, Harry could not tell. He watched dumbly as Draco took the vial from his fingers and tapped the back of his hand at the same moment, causing him to release the Snoffula. The Slytherin sat down smoothly beside him, and Harry only just remembered to move over in time. Draco said nothing, just began sprinkling the vial’s contents into the bubbling cauldron. The frothing went down, getting more and more sleepy until all of a sudden the surface of the mixture quieted and turned a pale glittering blue color. Harry held his wand out unsteadily and coaxed the flames down slowly until they barely fluttered at the base of the cauldron. He looked up to find Draco watching him.

“Well, well. So you _do_ have a knack for this after all.”

Harry frowned. He arranged the remainder of his ingredients back in his book bag to give his hands something to do. Before he could reach his direction sheet, Draco snapped it out from under his fingers and began perusing it. Harry watched nervously. The Slytherin’s forehead furrowed. He glanced up at Harry and then back down at the sheet several times. Harry fidgeted.

Finally he couldn’t take it any more. “What?”

Draco eyed him for a long moment. Then he set the sheet down and pointed one long finger at it. “Where in Salazar’s name did you get Andes spring water? I’ve been searching for that for two bloody months.”

Harry barely hid his grin as Draco rose and went back to his own table. He watched the blond boy settle into his seat and begin poring over a set of notes.

Well. For a first day… not bad. Not bad at all.

* * *

 _Step 6: Quality time_

 _Gryffindor Common Room, 4:26 PM_

Harry was in the middle of a rather engrossing chapter (if he did say so himself) on the intricacies of Transfiguring oneself into an eight armed coat-rack when Ginny Weasley walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Harry? Harry, sorry to interrupt but, there’s someone at the portrait hole for you.”

Harry lifted his head. “What? Who?”

Ginny looked a bit perplexed. “It’s Malfoy. Don’t know what he wants, but he’s asking for you. And he’s got his broom with him.”

Harry frowned, confused, and shut his book, setting it on the couch beside him. “Thanks, Gin.”

She nodded and walked away, still looking puzzled. He rose and approached the half-open portrait hole thinking that perhaps this was some sort of elaborate Weasley-esque prank – god, he hoped Ginny was not nearly as keen on this as her twin brothers, two trickster Weasleys were quite enough, thank you – but when he shoved the portrait open the rest of his way, he could see it was no joke.

Draco stood there, his black traveling cloak nestled around him, blond hair wisping from beneath a dark knit cap. He had on white dragon-hide gloves, his Slytherin scarf looped loosely around his neck, and he was indeed leaning his tall thin frame on the newest version of the Firebolt. The Slytherin cocked a dark eyebrow at Harry.

“Well?”

Harry blinked. “Wha—?”

Draco sighed exasperatedly and looked ceiling-ward. “Look, you want to spend time being more _friendly_ , the least you could do is get your arse out to the Quidditch pitch and throw a ball around for me. I’ve a match against Ravenclaw just after hols, you know, and I don’t intend to lose.”

Harry nodded jerkily, still trying to process what he was hearing. “Um… okay, sure, let me get my stuff…”

Draco’s voice followed him as he went quickly toward the dorms. “Well, hurry up, Potter! I haven’t got all night.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry was wrapped snugly in his woolen overcoat, gloved, hatted, booted, and striding through the frosted grass on the pitch with Draco. The Slytherin took something out of a pocket in his voluminous robes – a small red rubber ball – and slung one long leg over his broom. As soon as Harry had done the same, they took off, taking several laps around the field in silence. Harry watched as Draco dipped and swerved, feinting and feeling out his broom, swishing so low to the grass his robe hem came away icy, soaring high enough into the sky to be a dark shadow against the failing twilight. Harry had never really watched Draco fly before, and he was mesmerized.

It also sent a dull reminder of an ache through his gut. Harry didn’t have him yet, and there was the likelihood that he would never have him.

He shook himself, took a few dips of his own, wheeled about, and spiraled down only to pull up again a yard from the pitch. He soared up, tipped backward and free-fell for several feet before righting himself.

Draco had stopped toward the middle of the pitch and was watching him. Harry turned his broom and flew over, working out a question in his mind, but Draco wordlessly tossed him the ball and swooped out to signal he was ready. Harry pulled back and launched the small projectile lightly, giving Draco more time to warm up. The Slytherin caught the toss and returned it to Harry with an easy sweep of his arm.

“Bloody hell, this feels good,” the other boy said with a sigh. Harry blinked in surprise and then registered the words. He could not stop a grin from stealing over his face.

“Oh, yeah, I know. I couldn’t believe it when they cancelled Quidditch last year. It’s been so long since I actually flew for fun.”

Draco caught his next throw and passed back. “Well, can’t say I blame them, what with the state of the world and all. But I damn well missed this.”

Harry nodded. “Me too.” He tossed the ball lightly in one hand. “You ready for more?”

Draco smirked at him in the fading light. “Oh, come off it. Do you really need to ask?”

Harry laughed and threw the ball harder. Draco went after it with practiced ease and came back.

“So, the new Ravenclaw seeker,” he said.

“What about her?”

“She have any weaknesses I should be aware of?”

Harry thought for a minute, raising his hand automatically to catch Draco’s throw. Gryffindor had had their game against Ravenclaw two weeks before. “Well, actually…” He felt his face turning red and was glad of the darkness. “She kept… goggling at me. Winking and batting her eyelashes.”

Draco swooped away from him. Harry could not see his face, but he heard his voice float over the air. “Did she now?”

“Yeah. It was very… unnerving, to say the least.” He threw the ball hard, watched Draco spin and zoom after it, leaning low over his broom. He reached out one white-gloved hand and caught the ball just as its arc began to drop, then turned his broom effortlessly and glided back, tossing the ball to Harry again. “Very interesting. But not something I need to worry about, seeing as I’m not The Boy Who Lived.”

Harry snorted, catching the ball and bouncing it off the back of his hand before grabbing it again. “Don’t count on it. She’s probably just as hot for you.”

Draco laughed. “Is she?”

Harry grinned. “Lord, she’s a bloody fourth year. Of course she has a thing for you! Just like every other fourth year.”

Draco’s teeth gleamed white as he flew closer. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. “And every fifth year. And every _sixth_ year.”

“Oh, _your_ head’s not too big, that’s for sure. And don’t you dare say seventh year,” he retorted, pointing a gloved finger at the other Seeker. “I know for a fact that Ron does not like you.”

“Oh, I think I could have figured that out on my own, thank you.”

Harry smirked and wheeled back, faking to the right and throwing the ball to the left with all his might. Draco shouted at him testily and flipped his broom hard, changing directions with astonishing grace. He shot after the ball. Harry shielded his eyes and squinted, but he could not understand how Draco could possibly spot the tiny rubber ball in the darkening sky. He saw Draco’s white glove reach out again, snag something, and then pull in tight to his black-cloaked body. The Slytherin turned his broom in a wide lazy arc and swooped back, his green and white scarf fluttering behind. He pulled up alongside him and Harry could see the red flush of exertion on his cheeks.

“Alright, let’s see how you do, you snide Gryffindor git.”

Harry barely had time to readjust his seat on his broom before Draco pulled his arm back gracefully and powered the ball somewhere in the direction of the goalposts. Harry’s instincts kicked in and he took off after it, judging the arc in plenty of time to snatch it from the air. He brought it back to Draco with a cheeky grin. “You were saying?”

Draco made a sound resembling a snarl and launched the ball once more. Harry barely paid attention to where it was headed, eyes fixed on the little dark spot against the lowering sky. He was nearly to it, his hand stretched out, fingers grasping, when he suddenly became aware of something directly in front of him. He looked up in time to see the hoop of one of the goalposts not four feet away from his face.

“Harry!”

The shout behind him had only just registered when he hauled left on his broom, hard. He just barely cleared the hoop, one foot nicking the cold metal. He instinctively shoved the front end of his broom down, angling around the hoop, and suddenly spotted the ball falling quickly in front of him. He dropped fast and swiped it from the air just before both he and it hit the ground, pulling up just in time.

It wasn’t until he was headed back to Draco that the shaking started. He’d barely cleared that hoop. He’d almost run headlong into the bloody thing! Harry clutched the ball tightly in one fist and tried to still his body, coming to a hovering stop alongside the Slytherin. He turned his head away and tried to collect himself, sure that his face was even whiter than Draco’s,

A hand grabbed his coat.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

Harry turned to him, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, really. I didn’t hit it.”

Draco’s face was paler than usual. He frowned at Harry suddenly. “I thought you’d fallen. You went down so quickly—”

This time Harry’s grin was real. He held the ball up in front of Draco’s eyes with two fingers. The Slytherin looked at it blankly for a moment. Then his mouth fell open. He snapped it shut quickly, raising a hand to whip off his hat. He scruffed his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere but at Harry. “Bloody fucking hell…”

Harry laughed at the infuriated look on Draco’s face. “Oh, come on. You didn’t expect me to let it drop, did you?”

Draco growled and snatched the ball from him. “Fine! Fine, fine, just… oh, go do something useful, you wanking git, like getting the ball back!”

He threw the ball hard across the field, well away from the goalposts this time. Harry gave him a long look before whipping after it. Looking back under his arm, he was surprised to see a half-smile on Draco’s face.

When it got too dark to see anything, they alighted on the ground and headed back to the castle. Draco pulled his cloak off and slung it over his left shoulder as they walked. His breath ghosted white in the chill winter air, small puffs hovering about his lips before fading away. Harry unbuttoned his own coat, sneaking glances at the boy walking beside him.

Draco’s face was a pale pinkish flush of warmth rising from the edge of his still-looped scarf. The black cap was pulled low over his head so that only the bottoms of his ears stuck out, but there were soft white-blond hairs drifting against his neck from under the material. Harry felt himself smiling and looked away.

When they scuffed the ice from their boots and entered the front atrium, it was empty but deliciously warm and golden colored, the torches twinkling brightly along the walls. Harry gave a relieved sigh and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back and closing his eyes at the warmth infusing him. “Dinner, then?”

When he opened his eyes again, they met Draco’s and he realized the other boy had been scrutinizing him. The Slytherin smiled briefly and shook his head. “I’ve got an essay to write for Charms.”

Harry nodded, watched as the Slytherin walked toward the hallway leading to the dungeons. Draco pulled off his hat and readjusted his scarf as he went. Harry started across the atrium, heading for the Great Hall. When he was almost to the doorway, the blond’s voice drew him back.

“Nice flying tonight, Potter.”

Harry grinned, and then frowned suddenly. “Hey—”

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and turned, going through the doorway. “ _Harry._ Harry, yes, I know…”

His voice faded and Harry was left alone, his hand on the giant brass handle of the Great Hall door.

~tbc~


	3. Day Three

**DAY THREE: December 18th**

 _Step 7: Functioning together in a public setting_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, 9:55 AM_

Harry had awoken that morning slightly sore around the forearms and lower back, but sedately happy. Flying had felt glorious. Just marvelous. And the best part was, he knew it had as much to do with his flying company as with the feel of the biting wind across his face and the solid weight of the rubber ball in his hand. He’d hardly expected Draco to come by and practically drag him from his dormitory for a little mid-air bonding time. His Transfiguration reading had suffered for it: Harry still had three chapters to go before Monday. He’d planned ahead at the beginning of the week, much to Hermione’s joy, and had scheduled himself a chapter a night over the weekend so that he would have time to work on his Potions project. And now he would have to do two chapters tonight before bed.

But when he weighed it against flying on his Firebolt, tossing the ball back and forth with Draco… just being able to watch the Slytherin _fly_ … Well, there was really no contest. Studies would have to wait a bit.

And besides. He couldn’t do anything to the potion for a day anyway. It was just as well he… get some flying practice in.

He’d made it down to breakfast in high spirits, but then things had taken a nosedive deeper than the ones   
he had been warming up with the night before.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend.

That wasn’t the problem.

He could ask Draco to go with him with a little more confidence than he had expected to have the day before.

And _that_ wasn’t the problem.

Draco’d said he had a Charms essay to write.

Problem. In a nutshell.

Harry couldn’t figure out how he felt about this, really. It had struck him last night as the perfect way to part, knowing Draco was only being pulled away by homework. The thought had been soothing, like a warm flood of hot chocolate over his tongue, and he had gone to sleep with the sweet taste of that knowledge on his lips. But in the light of morning, watching Draco lazily eating his breakfast at the Slytherin table, hearing the laughter the boy’s comments raised from his housemates, Harry’s mouth took on a familiar bitter taste.

It was a weekend. Draco could write that essay any time over the next two days. Harry’s brain tried to remind him that he himself had been plotting to – oh horror of horrors – get a head start on his own homework last night, that it was Draco who had asked _him_ to come fly with him. But… Harry frowned.

What if it had just been an excuse? Maybe Draco had grown tired of his company, or worse, suspicious.

Harry had waited until Draco stood to leave the hall, waving goodbye to Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, who were wrapped in warm cloaks and had clearly come to breakfast with the intention of heading to Hogsmeade directly after. Draco had no such warm clothing on; just black trousers and a pale green shirt that set his hair glowing gold. The Slytherin walked through the doors and Harry stood and followed, still crunching on a piece of toast. He’d have to catch Draco before he reached the dungeons.

As it turned out, that was not difficult. Draco had paused in the atrium and was looking up at the stained glass windows beaming scatters of colored light over the floor. His face looked oddly calm, hued in reds and blues, and Harry found he did not want to disturb the moment. He waited again until Draco sighed and began to walk before going after him, careful to keep his own steps nonchalant.

“Draco, wait.”

The Slytherin turned and this time Harry definitely pinpointed a brief smile before the usual bored expression took over. “P— Harry.”

Harry smiled back and gestured toward the staircase. “Get your essay finished?”

An indefinable shadow crossed Draco’s features. His eyes narrowed. “Actually, I fell asleep halfway through. Flying took more out of me than I expected.”

“Well…” Harry hedged, suddenly very uncertain. He’d expected to be angry. To feel… annoyed at the very least. But he didn’t. He only felt a lump in his throat. His once innocent-sounding question struggled past it and came out a little strangled. “Going to Hogsmeade in a bit. You want to take a… breather?”

The Slytherin only looked at him.

Why the hell had Draco asked him to go flying if he didn’t want to be around him? Harry had been absolutely willing to let the incident in Potions be it for the day, but no, Draco had pushed it, and then pulled back, and now Harry was left in a worse position than before. And he’d already asked, and now Draco was going to know he was trying too hard, because he’d already known the night before… though for the life of him, Harry did not remember pressing any sort of closeness on the pitch. He waited, fidgeting slightly.

Draco’s expression wavered. Narrowed eyes widened, then narrowed again, his mouth opened and then his lips pursed closed. He seemed to be deciding whether to be annoyed… or… or something else. Not happy. Relieved? Harry thought that might be it. And then Draco shrugged suddenly.

“Alright. Essay’s nearly finished anyway.”

Harry blinked. “Oh— okay.” He stood there for a moment and Draco looked at him oddly.

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s rather cold out, Harry. Might want a jacket?” Draco turned and walked toward the dungeons. “Meet you here then.”

So. Harry was in high spirits again. Glorious, those. He still couldn’t quite put his finger on what Draco’s reaction had been initially, but the answer was the same in any case. Harry had his coat on. Was tying up his boots. Putting a hat on his head. His housemates were doing the same and they were nearly ready to go, and Harry couldn’t have been smiling more widely.

But there was still a problem. It was nagging him in an annoyingly familiar voice, tugging at him, pacing about, bringing up things he hadn’t considered in nearly twenty four hours.

Harry’d had no idea problems came with red hair and an inordinate amount of freckles.

“Bloody hell, _no_ , Harry! No. No way. No how. No can do. No fucking way am I going to spend one of my two days a week away from that git romping around Hogsmeade with him!”

Harry smiled sweetly at him. “Ron, you could always drop a class, you know.”

Ron’s schedule had been the topic of much grousing for the first half of the school year. The redhead lost no time launching into his usual tirade now. “Care of Magical Creatures with Malfoy. Then Transfiguration with Malfoy! Then Astronomy with… hmmm, let me think… oh yeah, Malfoy! And then, just when you think it’s going to stop raining… Charms. With. Malfoy. Followed by a side of Potions with Malfoy. Is it too much to ask that I get a Hogsmeade weekend free, to myself, to spend with my two closest friends in the world, glorious and cold and fresh, without having my Butterbeer and Honeydukes chocolate turned to Slytherin-flavoured ash in my poor tortured mouth?”

Harry patted his friend on the back and grabbed his scarf from his bedside table. “Nice try, Percy. Now let’s go. Hermione’s waiting outside.”

After much griping and kavetching, Ron finally managed to bundle himself up suitably and follow Harry from Gryffindor Tower. They made it down to the entrance with barely more than a sullen _hmph_ from Ron, and Harry was starting to feel rather optimistic about the whole endeavor. But then, of course…

“Potter. Is this some sort of joke?”

Ron turned to glare scathingly at the Slytherin. “My thoughts exactly, ferret.”

Draco sneered and crossed his arms. “Temper, temper, Weasel. Wouldn’t want you to mess that perfectly atrocious red head with any gray. Where’s your holiday spirit?”

Ron nearly spit. “Left it up in my room where you couldn’t mangle it!”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and stepped between them. “Come off it, you two! Can’t you just get along for one day?”

He looked at each of them and gulped. The way they were glaring at each other… He’d be lucky to make it as far as the main gate in one piece. He almost wished he had not agreed to spend the day with Ron, the probable consequences seemed so staggering.

Luckily for the state of Hogsmeade that day, it only took the sight of Hermione’s bright eyes and beautifully wind-flushed cheeks to turn Ron’s mind away from the glories of tormenting Draco. Harry’s dorm-mate looped his arm through his girlfriend’s and began to walk. Harry slowed up, let the distance between them grow enough to render his friends’ chatter a mere murmur, and looked sideways at Draco. The Slytherin had donned a deep forest green woolen coat with silvery buttons. The hem ended just above his knees, revealing thick hide trousers and expensive-looking boots. He had his scarf draped loosely over his shoulders, his hat from the night before tugged down past his ears again. Harry glanced at his own threadbare brown fleece and sighed, felt his face heating up again.

They walked all the way to Hogsmeade in silence. Draco looked awfully comfortable with it. Harry could not stop futzing with the fingers of his gloves, the threads hanging off his hat, the buttons nearly falling from his pocket flaps. Draco glanced at him once when they were on the outskirts of the town and raised an eyebrow. “You keep messing with that and it’s going to disintegrate.”

Harry flushed and pursed his lips. “Come on. I want something hot to drink.”

Draco followed him into the Three Broomsticks. Ron and Hermione were already sitting at a table. Ron tried to glare for Draco’s benefit, but quickly lost interest when Hermione laid a hand on his arm and leaned forward to say something. Harry went directly up to the bar and ordered a hot chocolate. Madame Rosmerta smiled and nodded at him, then looked over his head at Draco.

“Spiced cider.”

Rosmerta nodded and walked away. Harry watched as Draco gingerly wiped off the barstool next to him with one glove and took a seat.

“What, don’t drink cocoa?”

The Slytherin eyed him stonily. “Why, of course. When I was ten.”

Harry scowled and fell silent. Their drinks came and Draco clasped his mug with both hands, staring into the steam rising from the liquid. Harry look a tentative sip and smiled at the taste coating his tongue. He took a longer drink. “So… where do you want to go first?”

Draco glanced at him and blew on his cider without answering. He allowed himself a small sip. Harry saw his tongue dart out to the droplets left on his upper lip. “I’m not staying. Just a bit of a break. And I don’t shop, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “Well, I wasn’t planning on staying very long either. I need to read some stuff for McGonagall anyway. But I was thinking of picking up the last of my gifts. It won’t take long.”

For some reason, Draco scowled. He turned back to his drink and took a sip, then jerked back and slammed the mug down, sloshing cider over the edges. “Damn!”

“What?”

Draco tore one glove off and pressed his fingers to his mouth. “Burned myself is all.”

“Are you—”

“Potter!” Draco turned on him, eyes sparking, but then blinked and drew back. He lowered his hand from his lips. “It’s… I’m fine. Harry, it’s nothing.”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it quickly. He turned back to his cocoa, but it no longer looked appetizing. “Well… I think I should get a move on. Want to make it back to the castle in a timely manner.”

Draco said nothing. Harry fished a few knuts from his pockets and put them down on the bar with a clink. He glanced at Draco’s partially consumed cider and remembered his promise the day before concerning food in Hogsmeade. He was about to dig more deeply into the depths of his coat when he heard an answering clink to his left. Draco’s gloved hand came away from the countertop, revealing his own set of shiny coins. The blond did not look at Harry. He merely straightened his coat and stood, making for the door. Harry looked at the money again and then, jamming his hat over his unruly hair, hurried after Draco.

* * *

 _Step 8: If at first you don’t succeed…_

 _Hogsmeade main street, 11:47 AM_

“Wait, wait, wait. The Weasley twins are making how much, now?”

Harry smiled, taking the Fire Pop from his mouth. “Easily enough to open five similar stores across England. They’ve sent me some of their trial goods by owlpost, but I’ve learned to stop opening those boxes. Never turns out well for me.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, but did not respond. He popped a small chunk of chocolate into his mouth and chewed. “Mmm, bloody hell. I’d no idea Honeydukes sold these. I’ve only seen them in one other store and certainly not here.”

Harry eyed the rather large bag of similar chocolate pieces clutched in Draco’s left hand. “Trust me, they’re new. If they’d been here before, I’m sure I would have died long ago from seeing such a price put on simple chocolate.”

Draco snorted. “There is nothing _simple_ about these chocolates, Harry. They are worth every sickle.”

“Or every Galleon,” Harry muttered, and was gratified to see an answering grin from his companion. He smiled ruefully. “And it’s easy for you to say that. They were my Galleons!”

Draco smiled at him sweetly. “One thing you need to learn, Potter, is to refrain from making deals your arse can’t cash.”

Harry threw up his arms in mock frustration. “You didn’t make me pay for the drink.”

The other boy’s smile turned into a grin. “What can I say? I changed my mind. A person is allowed to do that, isn’t he?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Yes, yes that was definitely acceptable. Especially in the case of certain refusals from certain Slytherins.

They came around the last building on the street and the wind hit them full force. Harry squinted and shivered, wrapping his scarf once more around his throat. The chill bit through his worn coat and wrapped itself around his legs through the baggy material of his jeans. Draco tugged his hat down with a grimace and stuck his gloved hands into his pockets. His voice came low and muffled through his scarf.

“Amazing. Maybe there’s something to be said for ridiculously cold Scottish highlands.”

Harry followed his gaze and saw the Shrieking Shack. Memories tugged at him and he pushed them away with practiced ease. “What, the shack?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No. There.”

He pointed and it took Harry a brief confusing moment to realize he was talking about the land rolling away beyond the torn and tattered house. Harry raised one hand and shielded his eyes. He caught his breath.

The grass, a piercing frosty bluish color, was iced over in little white crystals. It dipped and swelled across the low hills sweeping around Hogsmeade, and the bright sunlight made each blade sparkle and dance like millions of diamonds. A line of dark pines stood silent guard over the outer edge where the hills gave way to higher crags and low valleys. In the distance, Hogwarts nestled against the mountains, stately and many-tiered.

Harry found his voice at last. “Wow. That’s… pretty.”

“Goodness, you have such a way with words,” Draco said in a sarcastic tone. Harry frowned.

“Well, I didn’t hear you giving out any poetic gems either.”

The Slytherin adjusted his collar so it stood up, blocking the wind from his cheeks, and relooped his scarf. “When there are no adequate words, it’s much more appropriate to refrain from speaking at all.”

Harry glanced at him. Draco’s eyes flicked to his, caught his gaze for an instant, then darted away again over the crystallized fields. He allowed himself a long moment to take in the glitter, the small blackbirds swooping up and down in flurries over the stiffened grass. Then he sighed, checked his watch, and turned to go.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”

Harry turned around, walking backward. Draco looked like a dark statue against the bright shine of the hills. His face, what Harry could see of it, was pink-tinged with the cold, the tip of his nose red, and his eyes brighter and more open than Harry had ever seen them. He wanted to capture it in a photograph; not a moving one, but a Muggle still shot. “It’s nearly noon. I still have to get a few presents before we go back.”

Draco’s eyes flickered and shut down again. Harry frowned, puzzled, but the Slytherin merely jerked his scarf ends tighter and stalked toward him, his face a blank slate once more. Harry was intrigued. He wondered how long it took to master that sort of quick change. Hours in front of a mirror, he supposed. Though…

Draco’s shoulders gave a sudden jerk and he cursed the cold in a muffled voice. A new thought popped unbidden into Harry’s head. He had not seen Draco shift so easily from liveliness to stoniness since the war. The hours in front of a mirror… were they to master that change, or avoid it?

It took Harry nearly an hour to find a suitable gift for Hermione. He finally settled on a book on the history of the Unspeakables. Ron was easy. A quick trip to the local Quidditch supply shop for a new set of Sure-Grip Keeper’s gloves took care of his best mate. Hagrid was slightly harder, and he consulted Draco on various balms and tonics at Hogsmeade’s small but intricate animal specialty shop for near on twenty minutes before the Slytherin told him in a testy voice to “just get the oaf a new dragon-hide lead for his blasted hound”. The blond calmed somewhat upon entering Mafelda’s Magical Methods and Supplies, walking over to check out the wide selection of potions ingredients lining the far wall, and Harry picked out a set of self-cleaning goblets for the Molly and Arthur Weasley, a book entitled _Growing Your Own Garden Gargantuans_ for Neville, and a tiny prancing crystal unicorn for Luna Lovegood. The final person on his list was Remus Lupin, and he realized very belatedly that he had just spent the past half-hour considering the merits of a magically adaptive moon-phase projector – _Takes into account all sorts of weather and magical mishaps_ – versus a special sealant that allowed clothing to patch itself seamlessly. He found Draco at the front counter picking through a set of sinister-looking blood-red vials and asked his opinion.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “How should I know? I don’t know the man at all.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He’d like both, certainly, but… I just want this to be special. Which one do you think has a more personal feel?”

“What?” Draco’s face was quickly sliding into a scowl. He crossed his arms over his chest. Harry saw that he was chewing his lip agitatedly.

“I think the moon one might be better. I wish I could have made him something, but I haven’t the time.”

The Slytherin looked impatient to be gone. “Harry, I have to get back. Just buy him the moon kit and come on!”

Harry looked at him for a moment, and then down at the two parcels in his hands. “I just… Wait a minute, okay, what would you choose? For your mother? Have you gotten her gift yet?”

Draco’s scowl was very apparent. “Oh, please, Potter! As if I still needed to shop for anyone on my list. Not all of us wait for the last minute to buy _important heart-felt_ Christmas gifts for our families!”

Harry blinked at the sudden sarcasm in Draco’s voice. But it wasn’t just that. The Slytherin sounded genuinely angry underneath his scoffing. It made Harry’s gut twist. He had no idea what had prompted this. Draco had seemed perfectly happy fiddling with the potions ingredients for hours on end. He had not said anything about having to go, even when Harry had taken as long as he had.

“It’s just that Remus is… well, he’s like a father to me. He was my parents’ friend, and he’s helped me so much over the last few years… Since Sirius died he— Well I want it to be something that shows how grateful I am. How close we are. And I don’t—”

Draco cut him off abruptly. “Whatever, Potter. Just buy your damn gift for the werewolf. I’m going back before Christmas holidays begin without me!”

And with that, he turned around, face twisted into an ugly grimace, and stalked out of the store, jerking his hat low over his eyes. Harry watched dumbfounded, still clutching both gift options in his hands.

The bell above the door tinkled merrily as another customer entered, accompanying the soft easy voices of two chatting witches behind him. But Harry could only stand there with his jaw clenched, worrying his lip with his teeth. His stomach flipflopped sickeningly.

Draco was gone, and Harry had no idea what he’d done to cause it.

* * *

 _Step 9: Minimize contact with others for a while_

 _Outside the Gryffindor boys’ dorm, 5:46 PM_

There was a note spell-o-taped to the outside of his room. Harry looked at the yellow lined paper dully, at his name scrawled in loopy letters across the front. He had half a mind to just ignore it, to go inside and leave it out there as a message to the person to leave him the hell alone for the love of Godric. He had _more_ than half a mind to write those very words over the top of his name. Perhaps he would even add a few choice phrases.

But it was Ginny’s handwriting.

Harry sighed. He ripped the note down, spelled the door open, and went through it, slamming it shut behind him. His dorm room was empty, thankfully. Neville’s bed was pristinely made, Ron’s an absolute just-fell-out-of-bed mess, and Seamus’ and Dean’s somewhere in between. But none of his roommates were there at least. He leaned against the door and began turning out his pockets, tossing his purchases onto his bed with barely a thought of whether or not they landed safely. The magically shrunken items transfigured themselves to normal size in midair and made his bed squeak when they bounced into stillness atop his quilt. He yanked off his sodden gloves, jerked his equally damp scarf over his head, and removed his coat, flinging it to the floor.

He’d not gone back immediately after Draco had left, but had instead returned to the Three Broomsticks to think. His new cup of cocoa had been long cold when he rose and left, not having solved any one of the questions he had asked himself repeatedly as he sat. He’d gone over the conversation numerous times and still could not pinpoint the exact phrase that had set Draco off. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Draco had been growing more and more agitated as the day passed. The only times he hadn’t been upset were when they were in Honeydukes, and when they were gazing at the field frozen over with ice crystals.

And Harry had no idea what that meant.

To top it all off, it had begun to snow heavily midway through his walk back to the castle. His coat was wet, his gloves were soaked, and he was still shivering. And now this note, with a slowly spreading damp spot from grabbing it with his gloved fingers. Harry kicked his shoes off and went to his bed, pushing the pile of gifts aside with one arm. He sat down, gathering his knees up and shoving his toes under the blanket. Luckily his clothing underneath his coat had not gotten wet. He fingered the letter open and read it apprehensively.

 

 _Harry—_

 _Wasn’t sure when you’d be back from Hogsmeade. The team – well, except for you and Ron of course – decided to get a spot of practicing in, so if you want to join us, we’re out on the pitch._

 _I wanted to talk to you about the Yule Ball, but I couldn’t find you this morning. I know you said you didn’t want to go, but I have this friend in Ravenclaw who really would love to see you there. I think she’d like to ask you herself, but she’s much too shy. I tutor her in Transfiguration and she’s really sweet! She plays Seeker on their Quidditch team, so you know her a little. I don’t want to make you go if you really don’t want to, but she’s a fourth year and it would give her the thrill of her life if you just came for a bit and said hello. Please? As my friend?_

 _Anyway, sorry to spring this on you, but I had to ask. Talk to you at dinner!_

 _Cheers, Gin_

 

Harry threw the note aside and jerked his curtains shut. The headache that had started when he saw the note on the door was in full swing now. He clutched his hands to his head, kicked at the presents littering his blanket, and flopped onto his back. He wasn’t getting up. Not for rowdy laughing roommates, not for dinner, not for fourth year Ravenclaw crushers. Not for irate Slytherins he had somehow managed to lose all chances with.

Not for _anything_.

~tbc~


	4. Day Four

**DAY FOUR: December 19th**

 _Step 10: Take a day off_

 _Great Hall, 9:31 AM_

Harry picked at his breakfast and tried to pay attention to Ginny’s animated chatter. The girl had sat down next to him a few minutes after he’d arrived and proceeded to tentatively ask if he’d received her note. When he said yes in a rather dull voice, it was like a firecracker exploded. Ginny began to gush, smiling in relief, and it was all Harry could do not to blink and scoot away.

“Oh, Harry, I was so worried you would think it was too forward! I agonized for ages over whether or not to even leave it on the door. The rest of the team finally got fed up and started yelling, so I slapped it on and left. But I was so nervous. Couldn’t concentrate through practice because you distinctly said you thought the Yule Ball was silly and you didn’t want to go, but… Oh, but she’s so sweet, and I’m sure she’ll be rendered completely speechless in five seconds if you show up, and then you can just be polite and then go…”

Harry waited until she ended a sentence with an upward lilt to her voice and answered in the only way he could think to stop the babbling. “Yeah, sure, Ginny. I guess I could come by for a bit.”

“Oh, thank you, Harry, really. You’re the best. Besides, what would a Hogwarts holiday event be like without you there?”

She smiled and got up, grabbing a muffin. “Dean’s organizing that Muggle game he loves out by the lake… you know… football? I don’t know, but he’s getting a whole group of students and Hermione’s going to spell the snow away for a bit. She’s discovered a nice continual heating spell in some book. You know Hermione. Anyway, you want in?”

Harry pretended to think about it for a bit, but in the end, he’d known his answer the second she began the question. “Sounds fun, Gin, but actually I have a lot of reading I haven’t had a chance to get to yet. I really should take care of that first.”

His friend smiled at him, and for a moment Harry felt guilty about disappointing her. “Hermione will be so proud! But I understand completely, Harry. I should really be doing my homework for Potions as well. But of course… football.”

She grinned and moved down the table to chat with some other sixth years, and Harry sighed heavily. Potions? Lord, he’d forgotten all about his project. It was a good thing the mixture had needed to sit for the past day. He poked his eggs with his fork. His day suddenly looked a whole hell of a lot darker… if that were even possible. He highly doubted it. All he had to do to remind himself not to get too happy by accident was think about the harsh words Draco had yelled before storming out of the shop. The way his face had twisted so angrily.

It wasn’t even an issue anymore, what he might have done to bring on Draco’s fury. Harry could not bring himself to care about that. All that was left was the fact that the headway he thought he had made had been completely negated. Draco had made it quite clear how he felt, and it stung Harry deeply to know he was the focus of so much ire. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d been hated; Harry knew he was definitely not everyone’s favorite person, no matter what Ginny said, and he had no qualms about it.

But he had not felt _Draco’s_ anger directed at him so heavily since that time just before the end of fifth year, when the Slytherin had threatened him in the hallway over getting his father thrown into Azkaban. Harry hadn’t cared then, of course. He’d been too aggrieved over Sirius’ death, and he’d hated Draco with a passion then anyway. But now, feeling it again and recognizing that feeling, it hurt so much more. Draco hated him. Again.

Harry looked up from his plate to find Hermione’s eyes on him. He’d not even noticed she had sat down, but there she was, thoughtful and knowing, and Harry didn’t want to deal with it. He’d managed to avoid Ron’s questions that morning about why he hadn’t been at dinner, simply saying he’d been reading and had fallen asleep. Ron had let go of the subject with an unsuspecting smile, and Harry was glad; he felt no need to elaborate on the events with Draco. Ron did not need another reason to be furious with the Slytherin. But Hermione… She had zeroed in on his discomfort the second he’d entered the Common Room. Luckily, she’d only greeted him and left the rest of what she wanted to say silent, but now she was looking at him again, begging with her eyes for him to tell her what was wrong.

When Seamus made a particularly facetious comment a few seats down, causing Dean to laugh so hard he knocked his pumpkin juice all over Ron’s plate, Hermione leaned in and grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Ron was spluttering in outrage, frantically throwing every napkin he could find on the widening pool of pumpkin juice, and Seamus was in hysterics. No one was even paying attention to Harry or Hermione. Harry sighed and hunched his shoulders. “Nothing, Hermione,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

She squeezed his arm. “Harry, come on. I know you better than that. Did something happen yesterday?”

He smiled weakly. “Just didn’t find all the gifts I wanted to buy.”

She started to protest, but her eye was caught by something else and she looked up toward the entranceway. Harry glanced over before he could stop himself and saw Draco walk into the hall at the end of a noisy group of Slytherins. His gut clenched and he looked away quickly. And cursed himself because Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him in sudden understanding. Damn. Had to learn to be more careful around her if he ever wanted to have any secrets of his own.

“Harry—”

He shot her a look and she shut her mouth. The rest of his friends were still kidding around noisily, Ron now threatening Seamus with his own pumpkin juice. Hermione tightened her jaw but forcibly kept herself quiet, and Harry felt his heart pick up speed against his ribs.

He wanted to look. _You’re not ready to give up just yet,_ his brain told him. _Just look at him. Meet his eyes. He’s probably looking at you. Come on, just one glance, one look…_ In the end, Harry could not summon the courage. He stood, mumbling something to Hermione about going back to the tower, grabbed a banana from the table, and walked out. He wanted to think Draco was watching, but… hell, it didn’t really matter anymore.

* * *

 _Step 11: Take time for real life_

 _Castle battlements above inner courtyard, 3:45 PM_

It was Harry’s favorite place, even on cold days, because the two highest towers in the castle so effectively blocked the wind and ice from getting at the small ledge on which he sat. Snow flurried through the air past him, drifting just beyond the walls of the ensconcing towers as if it were its static counterpart on a television screen. The inner courtyard was filled with thick fog that did not reach anywhere else over the grounds. It floated, a smoking potion hovering just under the edges of the surrounding walls. It looked like a bowl full of cotton, and Harry could see the faintest outlines of students passing through the courtyard, disappearing into the misty sea. The snow was not quite reaching the ground; Harry could see the football game going on below him out by the frozen lake. His friends looked like ungainly insects wrapped in weird layers of winter clothing, dashing about. Hermione’s bushy hair floated out behind her as she dribbled the ball around Luna. Harry watched with the closest thing yet to a smile on his face as Ron, covered from head to toe in mud, dashed up behind her and lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug, completely ignoring the ball. Her indignant screech – _Ronald!_ – echoed up to his ears. Ron hugged her tightly and leaned in. Harry could just picture the sweet peck on her nose. He’d seen it a dozen times. For a moment it made him forget he was still upset.

Ron had finally managed to ask Hermione out in the middle of sixth year. Well… alright, that was not entirely correct. It went more like this: Hermione had been enhancing the protection spells around the gates of Hogwarts with a group of teachers and older students when the Death Eaters had arrived, providing the best test possible to the new rather unorthodox set of spells. Hermione stayed behind just long enough to put the finishing touches on a trumped up rendition of Stupefy, meant to stun whomever used an unlocking spell on the gate itself. Ron caught her in the Great Hall as soon as she returned and railed on her furiously in front of everyone, about how stupidly she had behaved by staying out there, demanding she explain herself, and making her so mad she began shouting back. The row had reached a feverish pitch and Hermione was nearly in tears when Ron suddenly grabbed her off the floor, crushed her to him and gave her the deepest kiss Harry had ever seen.

And the rest was history.

It was one of his fondest memories, that night in the middle of the war, an image he returned to time and time again. They’d needed it, all of them, needed that moment of tenderness as if Ron and Hermione had shared it with everyone. And in a way, they had. It was hopeful, a light in the center of the darkness, and it was more than enough to dispel the fear everyone was feeling for an hour or so. For Harry, it was a buoy in a tossing ocean, one of many reasons to find Voldemort and make certain he never hurt that fragile spark he saw that night between his best friends.

Harry watched the game resume below. Dean’s team was winning handily, that Harry could tell, though he was not certain if that was because of the overall lack of skill or the lack of seriousness. He’d brought his Transfiguration text out with him and his finger was holding his place… on the same page he’d been on the night before his impromptu Quidditch practice. He’d long since given up trying to read it. There was no point. All he could think about was Draco and the way he’d leaned on his Firebolt outside the Common Room, smirking at him, the knit cap shadowing his amused grey eyes. And then of course the way those eyes had sparked just before Draco had stormed away in Hogsmeade. The images kept switching back and forth until Draco glared at him furiously while clutching his broom handle, and Harry had to stop because he was tainting that wonderful pre-flight image and he wanted to be able to savor it when it was all he had left of the Slytherin.

Hence the distraction of the game.

It was gradually that Harry realized there was someone else on the battlement with him. A vague prickling on the back of his neck, the heaviness of the silence up there. He froze, half turned, half-hoped…

Draco stood there cloaked in black, hatless. He was leaning against one of the towers gazing at him, and his body stiffened visibly when Harry’s eyes met his. The Slytherin frowned vaguely, his normal nonplussed expression, and suddenly the anger Harry had been looking for was there, hot and trembling in his chest. He looked away, hunching his shoulders. “Couldn’t find anywhere else to sulk?”

A soft sigh behind him. He heard Draco move closer, coming to sit next to him. Not too near. No, there was a cautious few feet between them still, and judging from the way he was feeling now, Harry could not protest Draco’s instinctual intelligence.

“Harry…”

He cut him off. “How the hell did you find me here?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking away over the grounds below. “Granger. She said you might be here.”

Harry stared at him. “You got it out of Hermione?”

Draco made a face and flicked at an invisible speck on his cloak. “I _asked_ Hermione. She didn’t seem in a hurry to hide it.”

Harry scowled. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask Ron. Any opportunity you can get to argue with him. Thought you’d jump at the chance.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, he starts things just as often as I do, Potter.”

Harry tried to remain belligerent, but in the end he only sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. “Yeah.”

Draco moved like he was about to speak, and Harry waited, but nothing came. He looked down at the game again. It was rapidly falling apart, the players filthy and laughing themselves into huddles of hysterics.

“So,” Harry said to the wall. “Yesterday.”

He might in fact have been talking to the wall for all the response he got. But he didn’t want to look at Draco. Didn’t want to see whatever expression was on his face. Several moments went by and the snowfall grew heavier.

Draco stirred. “I haven’t… actually bought my mother’s present yet.”

Surprise made Harry look at him. Draco was gazing at his hands, fiddling with the finger of one glove. Harry’s brow creased. “Why not?”

“I’m not going to get her anything.” Draco’s voice was harder, full of the winter’s chill.

“What?”

With a sigh, the Slytherin turned to look at him. “You have so many people who send you gifts. People you want to buy gifts _for_. You must spend a fucking week’s worth of hours each winter just thinking about other people! How many presents did you buy this year?”

Harry blinked, thinking the question was rhetorical. But Draco waited, and Harry had to hastily do a run-down in his mind. “Um… seven yesterday.”

“Total?”

“Maybe eleven.”

Draco laughed, a short harsh sound. It startled Harry. “I’ve bought three. One for Blaise, one for Pansy, and one for Greg. And there’s no one else on my list.”

Harry gaped at him. “What about your mum? And Snape?”

“You try buying something for Snape and see how he likes it.” Draco shook his head, smiling humorlessly. “And as for my dear mother… She will be getting as much as she has given to me.”

“Draco, you aren’t going to—”

“Save it, Harry. She hasn’t been on my Christmas list – or any other list – for a long time.”

Harry studied the other boy, noting the faint lines around his eyes and mouth. He hadn’t seen them before. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked. Draco’s face suddenly looked too tired, too worn for his seventeen years. Harry wondered if the war had done that to him, if perhaps his own face looked like that as well and no one said anything.

The Slytherin closed his eyes. “Before the war, I had a list. Like yours. Friends on it, people who I wanted to get things for simply because I could and they wouldn’t really expect it. Vincent was on it. Until he went over to Voldemort. And Theodore. But he died.”

“Was… was your father on it?” Harry asked, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Draco opened his eyes and stared at him, then looked away.

“Yes, he was. But not for the same reasons. I never got him anything like what I got for Blaise or Pansy. It was just something to do with him. Like paying my fee to live under his family name.”

Draco laughed to himself softly. “Even though it’s my name now. Always was my name. He saw to it.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Draco solved his problem by glancing at him, a sneer planted on his features.

“But you always had a long list, didn’t you? Like a built in family. I wager it hasn’t altered all that much over the years.”

“Draco, I—”

The blond raised his hand and his body shivered fitfully once. “You have so many people to buy for. I was watching you yesterday and I... You probably have to write them out just to remember them all. Hell, you even have a ‘father’ to shop for again. And I won’t even buy a licorice pop for my damn mother.”

Harry chewed his lip. “I never got to buy anything for my mother.”

“Would you have wanted to, though?” Draco countered.

Harry opened and closed his mouth once. “I think so. I never knew her, but…”

“But.” Draco shook his head ruefully. “But she was one of those people with a long list of her own.”

Harry thought about that. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

They sat silently for a while, and Harry began to realize that this was the closest thing he would get to an apology from Draco Malfoy. And looking at the pensive boy next to him, catching a glint of those faraway eyes, he didn’t really mind.

“Do you hear from her?” he asked softly.

Draco snorted. “Oh, yes. Like clockwork, once every two months. She’ll write again in a day or so, and I’ll read it and throw it away as I always do. It won’t matter if I write back, she wouldn’t notice anyway.”

Harry wanted to argue with him as he argued with Ron and Hermione over trivial things. But he had a feeling Draco was not searching for someone to refute his claims, not looking for a voice to confirm whatever little hope was left. It was fact and, Harry saw with a vague sense of horror, it _had_ been fact for a long time. He felt like he was too late for something. He should have done something. But that was ridiculous. What could he possibly have done?

 _You could put him on your list,_ a voice whispered in his head. And then Harry nearly smiled because it was so _obvious_. He really was an imbecile for not thinking of that sooner.

When he looked at Draco again, he got something of a shock because the Slytherin had not followed him into his better mood. But how could he have? He sobered at the questioning impatience in Draco’s eyes and fought the urge to lay a hand on his arm. “At least she writes, though, right?”

Draco’s eyes went a little bit hollow. “Harry, do you know why she writes to me? Because I don’t. Haven’t the faintest idea. She writes bi-monthly, but she didn’t even write when—”

He cut himself off abruptly and scowled, but Harry could see the franticness around his features. He waited silently and Draco let out a small breath, as if he had been holding himself in check, and went on.

“When I was sick. After the last battle. I woke up and… she didn’t even acknowledge that I had been in trouble.”

Harry swallowed. He remembered it very clearly, so clearly he almost shut his eyes instinctively. But the image would have been there in his mind anyway. “Draco… what do you remember about that?”

Draco shrugged noncommittally, looking away toward a sweep of dark cumulo nimbus clouds against the horizon. “Not much. One minute I was casting a spell at Rodolphus Lestrange, and the next… I was… I was in St. Mungo’s. The rest is all blurry.”

Harry felt something close up inside him. So Draco had no idea he’d saved him on the battlefield. No memory of screaming in agony while Harry struggled to rid him of the myriad spells wreaking havoc on his body, no knowledge of the blood he’d lost to the loamy earth beneath him. Harry did not realize how much he had been counting on that knowledge, how much it powered his belief that perhaps he had a chance to be friends with Draco. Perhaps Draco liked him now because he remembered.

But it was apparent that he didn’t. Harry bit back a sigh.

“Well,” he said, and noticed Draco was looking at him carefully. Harry just knew he was going to ask, to demand knowledge that should have been his, and he didn’t know if he could lie successfully enough to deflect the righteous curiosity. He did know he could not deal with the truth just then. It was too much. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Shouldn’t have dragged you along.”

Draco smiled briefly. “You didn’t drag me, Harry.”

They sat in companionable silence for a time as the temperature dropped and the wind changed direction, whisking bits of ice and snow into their faces for a confused moment. The football game had long since been abandoned, Hermione’s spell extinct. Snow had already covered the playing field over once again. The lake was nothing more than a vast but shallow indentation in the white sweep. Thunder rumbled far off.

Draco stood, brushing chips of ice from his cloak. He straightened his gloves. “It must be nearly dinner time by now. Let’s go, I can’t stand this odd fetish of yours any longer.”

“Fetish?” Harry said, getting to his feet carefully on the ledge. Draco cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded.

“Well, yes. What else would you call it when one sits out here in the freezing cold gathering ice on his eyebrows and Transfiguration book for no good reason?”

Harry raised a hand to his brow and found that there were indeed frozen chips of moisture there. He brushed them off, rubbed his dampened textbook vigorously, and followed Draco off the battlement to the small door leading into the corridor just below Trelawney’s Divination classroom. Draco held the door for him and then followed him inside, knocking a bit of snow from his shoulder with one hand as he passed.

* * *

 _Step 12: Take him to dinner_

 _Great Hall, 6:08 PM_

“It seems you have an admirer.”

Harry looked up at Draco’s words to see him half turned toward the Ravenclaw table. He followed his gaze and groaned.

“Oh… yeah. That’s that Seeker I was telling you about.”

Draco snorted. “Well, now you’ve done it. She’d redder than that ball we were tossing around Friday night.”

Harry smiled gingerly at the blushing girl, causing her eyes to widen. She giggled and flipped her gaze back down to her supper, a wide grin on her face. Harry shook his head and turned his full attention to Draco. “Just wait for it. She won’t be interested in me once she plays against Slytherin.”

He waited for the tart comeback, but Draco was studying the girl intently. The Slytherin had one arm laid across the table in front of his chest, the other cocked up on his elbow, his fork poised between thumb and forefinger. And he was… slouching. Just a bit. Harry thought it was rather interesting; he’d never managed to catch Draco with bad posture or elbows on the table, and had just chalked it up to his pure-bloodedness and parents. His poise dictated a lifetime of careful control in all things, from dinner to Potions, and apparently to Quidditch. Pansy Parkinson was the same way, and Blaise Zabini. In fact, most of the Slytherins were. The uneven slope of Draco’s relaxed shoulders was strangely endearing, exuding a comfort Harry had never felt from him before. He fought back a smile, taking a bite of broccoli to occupy his mouth.

He’d planned to sit at Slytherin automatically when they’d entered the Great Hall. No big deal. He’d done it before. But Draco had gone to Gryffindor table ahead of him and that was intriguing in of itself. Harry had wondered what Ron and Hermione would think – well, alright, he didn’t wonder about Hermione – but his housemates must have already come and gone. The only Gryffindors there were second and third years.

Draco finally turned back to him with one raised eyebrow. “I’d offer congratulations, but then, you’ve always had a fan club of some sort.”

Harry sighed. The Ravenclaw Seeker was darting glances at them now that Draco was no longer paying her any attention. It was going to be difficult to ignore her. Harry could already feel his shoulders twitching under the scrutiny. He shrugged and changed the subject. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?”

He’d been a little worried about how to get around to that question with Draco because of the obvious way it could be taken by one who knew he had a crush on him. But the Slytherin only laughed. “Fuck, no. Are you joking? I’ve got better things to do than waltz around a dance floor for three hours.”

Harry nodded, his heart sinking just a bit. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Draco glanced at him, still smiling slightly. “And you somehow don’t strike me as the type to go to dances either.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to go. Rather read, or fly, or something. But I sort of… have to go.”

Draco grinned suddenly. “Oh, yes. The Boy Hero must attend. How could I forget?”

“It’s not that. Dumbledore wouldn’t care if I didn’t come. But… I sort of promised Ginny I’d go.”

The smile on Draco’s face was replaced by an odd frown. He sat back, straightening. “You’re going with the Weaslette.”

Harry gave him a look before picking at his food with his fork. “Don’t call her that. And no, I’m not. It’s a favor to her. She’s friends with that Ravenclaw girl.” He flicked his eyes to the girl in question and clenched his jaw. “Who is still giving me _eyes_ , for crying out loud.”

Draco’s lips quirked and he leaned in again slowly. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been pimped out by the youngest Weasley?”

Harry scowled. Draco began chuckling. “You know, I could be wrong about that family. Apparently they’re doing rather well for themselves.”

Harry sighed and pushed his plate away, grumbling. “Yes, well, when you’re finished gloating, perhaps we could talk about something else. Wednesday night’s going to be the longest night in existence. You’re lucky you weren’t stupid and didn’t promise to come.”

Draco gazed at him briefly, eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression. They sat for a few more minutes as the Slytherin finished his dinner, and then Harry rose with another sigh. Damn, but he was sighing a lot today.

“I’d better go. I have loads of reading to do for Transfiguration.”

Draco frowned quizzically. “Thought that wasn’t until Tuesday for you.”

Harry blinked at him. “Well… no, it’s not. But I’m going to need all of tomorrow night to deal with that blasted potion. And half of tonight.”

Draco rose as well and fell into step on the other side of the table. “Not going as well as you’d hoped?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll manage, as long as Snape doesn’t assign something else tomorrow.”

Draco snorted, smirking. “Good luck. It’ll probably be his Christmas gift to each and every one of us. So thoughtful of him.”

And so it was that when Harry ultimately parted from Draco that night, he was grinning.

~tbc~


	5. Day Five

**DAY FIVE: December 20th**

 _Step 13: Nostalgia is the best tonic_

 _Hogwarts grounds, 10:30 AM_

Harry stood outside Hagrid’s hut with the rest of the Care of Magical Creatures class, shifting his feet in the snow and slapping his arms to keep warm. It was actually rather good that the air was so cold because Harry was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. But did it have to feel as if his eyeballs were freezing right there in his skull?

He’d plopped right down on his bed after returning from dinner the night before and haltingly read the three Transfiguration chapters, his eyes constantly skittering to the simmering cauldron at the foot of his bed. He began timing himself after finishing the first chapter, and from that point on his watch went off every ten minutes, and Harry leapt out of bed and gave the cauldron exactly five stirs with a long wooden spoon Hermione had loaned him. The potion was turning a weird yellowish color now as a result of the added powdered tusk of Carpathian pygmy boar, but Harry had checked the directions through and through, and apparently this was to be expected.

After each stirring episode, it was back to the textbook, and by the time eleven o’clock rolled around, Harry’s head was swimming with visions of pygmy boars with fennel headdresses transfigured to look like velvet settees and octopus-armed coat-racks. It struck him as so funny during one instance of stirring that he sat down on the floor and laughed hard enough to draw Seamus from the bathroom where he’d been brushing his teeth. His roommate stood there, toothbrush jutting out of the side of his mouth like a cigar, and demanded to know what joke he had missed out on. Harry kept trying to get coherent sentences out about boars wearing velvet, and that was what finally convinced him that it was way past his bedtime.

Unfortunately, his homework said otherwise.

He snapped his Transfiguration text shut for good just before half-midnight and fell to adding the clumps of Tunguskan Fireweed the mixture called for. Dean came in from the bathroom in pajama pants and crouched down next to him.

“What are you making, anyway?”

Harry sighed and leafed through his notes. “Bellefleur’s Cathexis Catalyst. It’s supposed to make the person who takes it able to concentrate better for days at a time without sleep. In large doses, it can make the drinker extremely persuasive, even able to nudge others in certain directions ideologically.”

“Neat. Sounds sort of like Imperius.”

“Mild form,” Harry said, yawning. “Bellefleur lived about… 500 years ago. Her studies were what the Imperius Curse was based on. But that particular usage is outlawed now. They catalogue every one of the more rare ingredients extensively, so they know exactly how much every person has bought. I had to get a permit from Dumbledore in October. My name’s on a list somewhere. I only have enough to make the mild doses.”

Dean grinned. “Bet you wish it was done now, huh?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, maybe then I’d be able to stay awake long enough to finish brewing it. Kind of a circular thing.”

Dean went to bed, but it wasn’t until an hour later that Harry put up his notes, doused the fire under the cauldron, and fell into his own bed. Ron and Neville came up from playing chess in the Common Room in time for Harry to wave feebly at them, but he was asleep long before their quiet joking subsided.

Needless to say, Harry had woken in a right state of sleepiness early that morning… and had proceeded to have the worst day in Potions in a long while. Snape had them working on a simple hiccup cure – whatever the hell that had to do with anything – and Harry had been so tired he’d accidentally added the ingredients in the wrong order and caused his mixture to froth so heavily it splattered all over his desk and the three desks around him. It had splattered on him. It had splattered on Hermione, Hannah Abbott, and Pansy Parkinson.

It had splattered on Snape.

Snape was not amused. He gave Harry detention despite his protests about having his project to work on, and now Harry was scheduled to be cleaning every cauldron in the dungeons at nine the next night.

“Regrettably, I will not be able to attend to your detention myself, Mr. Potter,” Snape had hissed. “But believe me, I will know if you have neglected your punishment. Mr. Zabini will be overseeing your duties, and I assure you, by no means will magical cleansing methods be made available to you.”

Harry had nearly lost his temper. Luckily for him, Snape walked away before he could. Draco looked over at him silently from his seat next to a now-grumbling Blaise, and Harry saw sympathy in his eyes.

At first, Harry had just fumed over the annoyance of having ever met Severus Snape. Now, standing in the snow waiting for his next class, he was feeling a vague knot of dread forming in his gut. His potion was temperamental; it would require his utmost attention the night before it was due. He didn’t know how he was going to scrub every one of Snape’s cauldrons _and_ add the delicate finishing touches to his mixture.

But he had two days. And he was dead tired of thinking about that bloody git Snape. He’d manage somehow, he figured, and pushed it wearily from his mind. Maybe he could add some of the ingredients a bit earlier than he’d planned. Some potions allowed for that.

Hagrid finally came out of his hut wrapped in his huge coat and carrying a longish saw. He waved the seventh years over to him with a gloved hand. “Alrigh’, we’re not goin’ to be dealin’ with any large animals today. Dumbledore has asked me t’ cut down the Christmas tree, and yer goin’ to help me find it. Now, who remembers the segment we covered on tree sprites?”

Hands shot up and within moments, Hagrid was outlining the exact type of sprite the students should be looking for.

“Now, it’s goin’ to be delicate work, but the firs’ student to successfully talk a tree sprite into givin’ us a tree gets extra credit on his or her midterm grade. They can be excellent debaters, tree sprites, but if yeh flatter em enough they’re like to give yeh whatever yeh want and p’raps a little somethin’ extra.” Hagrid wiggled his eyebrows.

The girls giggled, and Harry belatedly realized they were talking about mistletoe sprigs. He rolled his eyes, sighed, heard an answering impatient huff behind him, and shared a smirk with Draco.

“Alrigh’! On yer way now.” Hagrid clapped his huge hands and slung his saw over his shoulder. “Come back here if yeh find anythin’. I’ll be cuttin’ logs an’ feedin’ the Hippogriffs.”

The class broke into groups, chattering excitedly and heading for the small copses of trees on the very edges of the Forbidden Forest. Harry glanced around for his friends, but Hermione was already dragging Ron away with her in the direction of the taller trees on the other side of the castle. As he watched, she glanced back under her arm. Harry could have sworn he saw a mischievous grin on her face.

“Well, let’s go, Potter, I don’t have all day.”

Harry whirled at the sound of Draco’s voice behind him and was surprised to see that the Slytherin was the only one left of his classmates. He stood there with his arms crossed over that long green coat of his, hat tucked into the crook of one elbow. Harry blinked at him. “Where did everyone go?”

“How the hell should I know? Come on, or the damn tree sprites will boycott Hogwarts.”

Harry followed Draco along the edge of the forest. He was beginning to feel more awake now; the cold air was cutting into his cheeks, making his eyes water. He shook himself and caught up with his companion. Draco was not even pretending to look at trees. He was walking along steadily, his hands deep in his coat pockets, gazing passively around at the glittering white blanket of snow covering everything. Harry looked back and forth from Draco to the landscape, and grinned. “Well. That’s certainly a first.”

“What is?” Draco asked, turning to look at him curiously.

“Never seen anything whiter than your hair before. Amazing.”

“Oh, shut up, Potter.” But Harry saw him hide a smile as he turned away.

They walked for some time, and Harry entertained himself by shading his eyes and pinpointing the tallest pines. He pointed them out to Draco and they headed over to a few behemoths, stumping through the thick snow. When they got to the nearest one, Draco halted and peered up at it, hands on his hips.

“I’ve bloody well forgotten how to call a tree sprite. Don’t they not like boys anyway?”

“No, that’s unicorns. Tree sprites don’t like _anyone_. Unless you can argue ostensibly.”

Draco smiled confidently. “Then we’re set, aren’t we?” He walked over to a tree and beat on the trunk with one fist, then cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back. “Alright, you bloody sprite, I need this tree. Or the top of it at least. I’m prepared to provide numerous facts and details about Christmas culture, as well as throw a few insults at you if debating is not your forte.”

Harry bent over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. There was no answer from the supposedly listening tree sprite, and Draco shrugged, glaring at Harry indignantly. “What? I’ve done my part. Let some Hufflepuff earn his or her keep and whinge until a sprite kills itself out of boredom. Then Hogwarts will have its bloody tree.”

Harry shook his head and struggled to control his laughter. “And I used to wonder how you ever got your way all the time.”

Draco sniffed and leaned against the tree trunk. “At least we don’t have to sit there and deal with those damned hippogriffs.” He shuddered. “Never did like those things.”

Harry chose to let that one go. He wandered around the stand of trees, scuffing the snow into piles and watching the sunlight glimmer across the top of it. Finally he found what he was looking for: a snow bank about knee deep. With a sigh, he stretched his arms to the sides and fell over backward into the white fluff.

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing?”

Harry began moving his arms up and down in long strokes at his sides. He made the same sweeping motion with his legs. “You are entirely too uptight, Draco, you know that?”

“Excuse me, but you are the only one I see acting like a human windmill in the middle of a snow bank.”

Harry heaved himself out of the snow again with some difficulty and turned to look at his handiwork. “Haven’t you ever made a snow angel, Draco?”

The Slytherin waded over to Harry’s side and crossed his arms, glancing disinterestedly down at the misshapen design. “Please. That’s for little children.”

Harry groaned and looked skyward. “Well, _maybe_ you need to learn a little bit about being a child again!”

With that, he reached out with one hand and gave Draco a firm shove. The Slytherin let out a yell and toppled into the snow waving both arms. Harry grinned and stepped a little to the right, turned around, then let himself fall again. He immediately began another angel.

Draco was struggling and cursing. “Potter, you arsehole! What the fuck did you do that for?”

The sky was so blue overhead. Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes, still moving his limbs. “Just stop your whining and make a damn snow angel, Draco. You’re already there, you might as well.”

“I am _not_ making a bloody snow angel! It’s ridiculous!”

Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Draco between the tufts of white. “Then be ridiculous for once! No one’s here but me, and we’ve already established that I take the cake in that department. Come on, Draco. You must have done this as a kid. You live north of York, right? Just… pretend.”

For a long moment the only sound was the soft shift and swish of Harry’s arms and legs. Then… almost an echo of it… the same sound began to his right. He looked over and saw Draco gingerly moving his arms. Long slow sweeps, as if he were remembering the muscle movements. As Harry watched, the other boy rolled his head to look back. His eyes were slightly wider than usual, his face open and… nervous? Contemplative. Harry met his gaze and held it, and the quiet flowed around them.

Finally, Harry rolled to the side and got to his feet again. He brushed off his jacket as best he could and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the clumps of ice away. He pulled his hat out of his pocket and tugged it on. Draco was lying on his back in the snow, limbs now motionless, looking up at the sky with a dreamy passive expression. His cheeks were flushed again, his hair spread out over the snow like a golden fan. Harry felt a smile stealing over his face at the sight. Draco’s eyes flicked to his.

“What the hell are you smiling at?”

Harry shook his head. “Just looking at how precious you are.”

Draco gave an outraged cry and began to sit up. “I am most certainly _not_ precious, you Gryffindor arse, how _dare_ y—” He suddenly shut his mouth and struggled more violently. “Bloody fucking hell, Potter, get me out of this damn snow bank!”

Laughing, Harry reached down and took hold of Draco’s outstretched hands, pulling him to his feet and stumbling a bit as he did. Draco brushed his coat off primly, glaring at Harry before looking down at the snowdrift that had just relinquished him. He cocked his head, hands stilling. “Well. I suppose it does look rather—”

“Cute?” Harry broke in, snickering.

Draco frowned. “ _Angelic_. But of course,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly and smirking, “it was made by me, after all. Naturally, it would be perfect.”

“The hell it would! You’ve left boot prints in the middle of the skirt!”

Draco sniffed. “Wouldn’t have happened if you’d pulled me up with a little more strength. Besides, your angel looks like it’s been flattened by a clumsy Gryffindor. Oh, hang on… _it was_.”

Harry had launched the snowball before Draco finished his haughty tirade. It smacked into Draco’s neck just below his chin and dribbled down over the woolen collar of his coat. The Slytherin’s mouth dropped open and he raised his eyes to Harry’s incredulously. Neither of them moved. Harry knew he should be vaguely worried. But really, this was as much a test as it was a game. He needed to know about this side of Draco Malfoy, no matter how disappointing it might be.

Abruptly, Draco clenched his jaw. He bent down, grabbed a heaping handful of snow, and lunged at Harry. Harry yelped and tried to run but Draco latched onto his collar and dumped the snow down the front of his jacket. It slithered against his skin, achingly cold. Harry gasped and jerked away from the Slytherin, scrambling over the snow. He dropped, gathering a tuft and shaping it, and launched it at Draco, who only just managed to dive out of the way. And then another snowball smacked into Harry’s chest and the blond’s righteous “Ha!” rang out.

Harry hurled another snowball at the other boy, landing a direct hit to his shoulder. Draco responded in kind, and soon missiles were whizzing back and forth, the sound of their thumps against bodies augmented by gasping laughter from both opponents. Harry turned to get more snow and Draco took the chance to run at him and tackle him onto his back, rolling away before the Gryffindor had a chance to shove snow in his face. But Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him back, heaping the cold fluff onto his chest as he struggled.   
Finally Harry was laughing so hard it only took a weak push from Draco to roll him off. He sprawled in the snow catching his breath, and listened to Draco breathing hard beside him.

“Wow, you’re a much better opponent than my cousin,” Harry wheezed. “The one time we went to the snow he kept shoving my face in it until I nearly had frostbite.”

“When was that?”

“I was…” Harry counted mentally. “Seven. I think.”

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Harry. “And he shoved your face into the snow?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s always been bigger than me. Let me tell you, it’s been a relief not having to go back to my aunt and uncle’s house over vacations. Christmases especially. Now the season actually _means_ something to me.”

“You’re not going back for hols?”

Harry furrowed his brow and looked back at Draco curiously. “No way. I’m staying here.”

“Is this normal?”

Harry nodded. “No different than any other Christmas. Well, no, there was one I spent with the Weasleys at… at Sirius’ house. That was nice.”

Draco’s face looked perplexed. “But you’re not going there this time.”

Harry sat up and leaned on his arms, crossing his ankles. “Actually, I think there are a lot of people staying. Dumbledore is sort of… holding a Christmas for the Order, I guess. The Weasleys are coming here, along with a bunch of others. To celebrate the end of the war.”

Draco’s frown deepened. “I heard about that.”

Harry smiled encouragingly. “Actually, I only found out from Ron when he got a letter from his parents telling him to stay put over break. But I know a lot of people are leaving, too, like you.” He looked out over the snowy grounds, at the dark blue-green pines sugarcoated white. Draco gave a sigh and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Actually…” He pursed his lips. “I’m not going home for Christmas either.”

Harry looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Your mum.”

Draco shifted suddenly. “What would be the fucking point anyway? She wouldn’t care, and I sure as hell don’t want to spend a week in that mansion with only her stiff self for company. But… I didn’t know so many other people were staying.”

Harry nodded wordlessly. A dark-feathered owl winged its way across his vision, making for the Owlery from the forest. Draco sighed again. “Hell, what have I got to lose anyway? Maybe the season will come to mean something to me, too.”

Harry nodded again. He could feel the relaxation rolling off Draco in waves, the tension leaving him. His blond hair was mussed, and Harry suspected that if he knew, he would have pitched a fit right there in the snow. But he didn’t seem to notice, and so Harry committed the frizzled spiky outline of it to memory for a later day.

“Or…” he said conversationally, “maybe you’ll actually learn how a real snowball fight is won.”

Draco’s head snapped around, his eyes flicking over Harry’s face beneath dark brows. Harry smirked and kicked a clump of snow at him. Draco’s face broke into a determined grin and he shoved Harry’s shoulder, flinging a handful of snow at his head. Harry rolled out of the way hastily and the snowball fight began anew.

* * *

When they made it back to Hagrid’s hut, the sun was low in the sky. Hagrid was sitting outside cleaning his saw. A massive pine stood braced upright near the wall of the little house, casting a huge shadow over the man. He looked up as they came, taking them in with one long glance, and lifted his eyebrows.

Draco’s hair was plastered wetly to his head, his cap perched at a lopsided angle over one ear. His jacket was deeply soaked, and there was snow caked all down his back. Harry knew he did not look much better. He ran a hand through his hair and scruffed through the ice-stiff spikes of it, noting the glimmer of amusement in Draco’s eyes as he did. Hagrid stood.

“So, I don’ suppose yeh have another tree picked out fer me, then?” At their twin head-shakes, the man sighed exaggeratedly. “No, no I thought not.”

Harry grinned. There was the smallest of smiles on Draco’s face in the weak sunlight.

* * *

 _Step 14: Back to the basics_

 _Outside the one-eyed humpbacked witch, 6:24 PM_

Harry peered down the hall carefully before sliding out of the tunnel and pushing the statue closed behind him again. His legs ached fiercely, but that was to be expected after no sleep and a running trip to Hogsmeade and back. He was freezing again. The tunnel must have been coated in ice, and despite being underground, the air inside had chilled him to the bone.

But. He had it.

It had taken a good hour. He’d gone to just about every shop in Hogsmeade that was still open, dashing in and running out again. It was in the Quidditch supply store that he finally found what he was looking for. It was small, small enough to hide in his robes. A golden Snitch, solid and cold in his palm, its wings folded tightly against it. Harry had been caught and held by the engraving on it: an intricate dragon with wings unfurled, carved directly into the Snitch’s surface in delicate bronze. The lines gleamed green when turned to the light, and the gold tone glowed warmly around the dragon. He purchased the Snitch, had it gift wrapped, and made it to the tunnel in Honeydukes without being noticed. Then he’d run nearly all the way back down the tunnel itself, his breath frosting the air, arm stretched out holding his illuminated wand. He jerked to a halt at the end of the tunnel and sat gasping for breath and checking his watch. It wouldn’t do to be heaving and blowing when he was supposed to be coming back from a nap in his room. Draco would undoubtedly suspect something.

As it was, he was going to be late. As soon as his body began succumbing to the cold again, his breathing fairly close to normal, Harry eased out of the tunnel and began the walk to Gryffindor tower to get his Potions notes. He had to write eight inches of parchment on the brewing process, and Draco had offered to coach him in the tedious nitpicky grading methods of Professor Snape. Harry was practically sleepwalking already, but he wasn’t about to get docked for some stupid mistake on his write-up when he’d worked so damn hard assembling and brewing the ingredients so precisely.

Once in his dormitory, he took off his coat and put on a much more indoorsy sweater, dropped the parcel from Hogsmeade into his trunk, and went back downstairs with his notes and a quill. He slipped into the Great Hall and grabbed a pasty, then met Ron on the way out.

“Harry! We’re going to play some Exploding Snap. Neville got a new deck from his cousin, but it looks scarily similar to one of Fred and George’s trick decks. Ought to be funny. I don’t think anyone’s told him yet.”

“I can’t actually. Have to do that write-up for Snape.”

“Ah… yes, that.” Ron grimaced. “Really should be doing that too.” Then he grinned and shrugged. “Oh well. There’s always tomorrow.”

Harry said his good-byes and headed for the library. Draco was sitting at one of the tables in the back, reading an Advanced Astronomy text. He looked up briefly when Harry sat down.

“You know, Harry, some of us have other homework to do tonight.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t hear my watch go off.”

Draco closed his textbook and scrutinized him more intently. He frowned. “Are you certain you slept?”

Harry snorted, feeling his face begin to get hot. “Of course I slept. What else would I have been doing?”

Draco murmured something suspiciously, but let it go. He directed Harry to get to work on his essay and resumed his reading as he began to write. Harry went at it steadily for an hour, poring over his notes, intent on including everything. He felt energized by the memory of brewing the potion and his quill flew back and forth over the paper, describing the smells, textures, lengths of time spent stirring, the permit application process… It wasn’t until he sighed and sat up straight again that his weariness caught up with him. He grimaced and rubbed his neck, dropping his quill.

“Here. I’m done.”

Draco pulled the parchment over the table without a word. Harry felt a little uneasy about all the ink splots and cross-outs, but it was just a draft after all. He would rewrite it when Draco was done checking it over.

“You’ve missed a step here. Professor Snape will nail you for that one… Oh, wait, I see. That’s what this arrow means… Good Lord, they checked your family background for the permit?… Alright, but don’t go over the margins, he’s pretty strict about that…”

Harry laid his head down on his arms and listened to Draco’s low murmuring, the scritch of his quill as he checked and circled certain things. He was so tired. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a minute…

* * *

 _Step 15: Breathe_

 _???_

The air smelled of blood. It was all around him, dripping, sliding, damp against his skin. He could hear sounds, thick hoarse cries, but there was no one, just a soupy reddish mist. He stretched his hand out, and there was a wand between his fingers, long and familiar. His wand. It tugged at his arm, pulling him forward. He followed and his legs felt heavy. The ground was soft, squelching underfoot, but he did not look down. He only looked forward at the faint shapes moving through the mist. He could feel _him_ somewhere ahead, or behind, all around, but he could not see him. Slit eyes, redder than the fog, he knew they were there. And when he found him he would say the words, his mouth was forming them already even though he tried to silence himself, and the red mist shrouded him in muffled moans, and he kept moving. He had no control, the eyes were everywhere, a wand just like his pointed at his chest, he could sense it, hear the building pulse of magic, and he was draped in blood and he was _right there right there breathing—_

“Harry! Harry, open your eyes!”

Harry shot up, falling from his chair. Arms caught him, wrapped around him and pulled him upright, and Harry pushed out instinctively, shoving with all his might. The arms only tightened, and a voice cut through the haze filling his brain. “Harry! Stop it. Just hold still!”

Harry froze, clamping his mouth shut so tightly his jaw ached. He blinked rapidly. Draco. Something inside told him it was Draco holding him, though he had no idea how he knew. The other boy was murmuring softly, and Harry became aware of the warmth of his body. He gave a shuddering gasp and Draco’s arms loosened. “Harry, are you—”

“What’s going on here?”

Harry looked up and saw Madame Pince peering hawkishly over her spectacles at them. Draco responded quickly, rising to his feet. “Everything’s alright. Sorry, he just fell asleep.”

Madame Pince’s lips pressed into a thin line, echoing the tight creases over the rest of her face. “You have rooms of your own for sleeping. You must keep quiet in the library, both of you, or I will have to ask you to leave.”

Draco nodded, apologized again, and the librarian left, shaking her head. Harry held his breath until she had disappeared among the rows of books. Then his body shuddered so violently he felt ill. He let out a strangled gasp and covered his face with one hand. Draco knelt next to him once more. His hands touched Harry’s shoulders, but it was too much and he jumped, hissing. Draco snatched his hands away.

“Harry, it was a dream. You were dreaming. What—”

Harry hunched forward, clenching his free hand, digging the fingers of the other into his forehead. “Oh God…”

Draco made a strange sound and grappled with Harry’s fist, trying to pull his hand open. “Harry, stop it, what’s the matter with you? You’re hurting yourself!”

He finally succeeded in wrenching his fingers up and Harry saw blood pooling in his palm. It jolted him back into the dream, the seeking slithering red mist, and his heart began to race. “Oh God, not again…”

Draco put his hands firmly on Harry’s shoulders and squeezed. “Harry, you were yelling. I had to wake you. What happened, what did you dream about?”

Grey eyes searched his face, and Harry tried to steady himself in them but all he could see were the same grey eyes squeezing shut in agony, the body belonging to them writhing, arching off the ground. He tried to breathe and found he could not.

Draco’s eyes widened.

“The battle. You were… dreaming about the battle. Weren’t you?”

Harry didn’t answer, but Draco knew, he could see it in his face. He lifted one pale hand to his head, ran his fingers through his hair. Harry watched, chewing his lip to pieces.

“Harry… you’re not there. You’re here in the library. With me. The war’s over. He’s dead.”

Harry jerked away from the hands trying to steady him, his face twisting. “You think I don’t know that? Of course he’s dead! I made sure of that, didn’t I?”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Of course you did. He’s not coming back, there’s no way he—”

Harry laughed, a harsh sound that startled even him. “No, they don’t come back after that, do they? None of them.”

Draco’s frown deepened, but there was no anger, just concern. “Harry… it’s not your fault.”

“You weren’t there, you don’t know a damn thing about it!”

“No, I _wasn’t_ there with you. I didn’t see what you saw. I didn’t do what you did. But Harry, it’s _over_. You have to let it go.”

“I can’t fucking let it go!” he hissed, right into Draco’s face. “I killed him. Deliberately pointed this wand at his chest and killed him!” He shook his wand in front of the Slytherin’s nose. “That’s what the last battle was to me. I took someone else’s life.”

Draco’s expression soured into something ugly. He gave Harry’s shoulders a sharp shake, his voice hissing furiously. “Stop it! You don’t get to give his life worth. It didn’t have any. It was necessary, and you did it, and you saved everyone! Don’t you dare feel guilty about killing that… _thing_.”

Harry blinked, sobering slightly. Draco’s eyes were full of ice, rage flickering in their depths. His entire face was tightened, drawn into the haggard pinch Harry recognized from that night when he had knelt over him trying to rid his body of the dark magic flooding through it. He took a deep shaky breath and Draco’s eyes unclouded a bit. His fingers tensed on Harry’s shoulders and loosened again.

“I don’t… ever want to hear that again. He was nothing, do you understand me? And you… you are…”

He trailed off and looked away, down at Harry’s hands settled limply in his lap. Draco released his shoulders and took the wand from his fingers, setting it carefully on the table top. The Slytherin got to his feet and walked back around the table dazedly, resuming his seat in his chair. Harry watched him.

They didn’t speak again. Draco went back to checking Harry’s essay, but his face was white, the shadows under his eyes prominent. Harry gathered the rest of his things into a stack and when Draco handed him back his essay, he took it and rose to go. Draco’s eyes caught his in a long look. He smiled sadly, hopefully.

It was difficult, so difficult. But Harry returned the smile and felt something release and warm him through the ice caking his innards. Relief passed over the Slytherin’s face. Harry turned and left, walking unsteadily, feeling Draco’s eyes on him the entire way out of the library.

~tbc~


	6. Day Six

**DAY SIX: December 21st**

 _Step 16: Get your bearings_

 _Great Hall, 12:30 PM_

Harry was still a bit dazed. Part of him thought he had dreamed the previous day up, fashioned it out of some sleepless hallucination. At times, images of Draco lying on his back in the snow drove him to certainty on that point. When had the stuck up Slytherin ever played in the snow after all? But immediately, the term “stuck up” felt wrong to Harry, and his thoughts swung to the late evening quiet of the library, of Draco’s worried face, his arms holding Harry against running from the nightmare that had not plagued him for months. Draco’s words. They had convinced him last night, and they remained crystal clear in his mind.

He was sitting at the Gryffindor table, ensconced comfortably between the warm bodies of Ron and Hermione, nibbling on a piece of bread. Hermione was subdued, watching him carefully in between her responses to Ginny’s animated chatter. But the unnerving thing was that Ron kept looking his way as well, brows knit in vague concern.

Harry knew his friend was reacting to the previous night. He’d kept himself awake, sitting in bed staring up at the ceiling, even when the redhead had tried to get him to sleep. All he could do was shake his head at Ron’s increasingly worried entreaties for him to “forget about your damn potion and lie down.” He knew he looked a wreck: the mirror had practically cried out in horror when he’d passed it on his way to the bathroom sometime around eleven, and Ron jumped from his bed when he looked up and saw his face.

“Harry! What’s happened, are you alright?”

Harry could only shrug and mutter noncommittally, and then hole up in the bathroom in an attempt to evade further questions. Ron had demanded answers, even gotten angry enough to threaten Harry with the silent treatment until he came clean, but Harry had been too nervous, too miserable to care. Finally he had to pretend to sleep in order to get Ron off his back, and even then his friend did not go willingly. The redhead constantly glanced at him from his own bed, whispering questions until Harry remained quiet long enough to convince him he’d drifted off. After Ron shut his own eyes, he sat up and fixed his gaze on the wall.

He’d been terrified he would have nightmares again.

Now at the table eating lunch, Harry noticed the beginnings of a frown on Hermione’s face and quickly downed a glass of orange juice to placate her. Thankfully, the nightmares had remained absent through the night, even when he finally tumbled from sheer exhaustion and slept. In fact, Harry could not remember a single dream he might have had. Just the blank darkness of deep slumber. He was waking up again to bright morning sunshine through the window before he knew it.

A long drawn-out screech sounded and all over the hall students turned their eyes upward. It was Draco’s eagle owl, soaring gracefully through the arch, winging its way to the Slytherin table. Harry followed the magnificent bird until it settled onto its owner’s shoulder. The Slytherin smoothed the owl’s feathers and Harry saw his lips move as he spoke. Draco untied the small white envelope from his bird’s outstretched talons and tossed it a bit of meat from his sandwich. The owl darted its head up, snapping the food from the air, then took wing again and flew from the hall.

Draco turned the letter over in his hand. A frown crossed his features and he looked up, sighing. His eyes met Harry’s. For a moment, his gaze was blank, uncertainly so. But then he offered Harry a tiny smile.

Harry smiled back.

When he had finished his lunch – what little of it he felt inclined to eat – Harry rose and, making the excuse of getting his books for Charms, left the hall. He yawned, walking across the atrium to the steps leading up to Gryffindor tower. His mind was still on the night before, but now his thoughts flashed with Draco’s face in the dim glow of the library lights. It felt unreal again, and he was not quite sure if he had really been there, if the other boy had actually shaken him awake, held him up, defended him against Madame Pince. Uttered the words still echoing in his mind.

Someone came up from behind and fell into step at his side. Harry turned and suddenly he was faced with the object of his thoughts. Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and looked straight ahead, flicking his hair from his eyes with a jerk of his chin.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

Harry looked at him for a second, and then shook his head, glancing at his feet. Draco nodded.

“I can understand that.”

“Can you?” Harry asked softly. Draco pursed his lips, his brow creasing, but didn’t answer. They walked in silence for two flights of steps before Harry sighed fitfully and rubbed at his face with one hand. “Charms in a bit.”

Draco chuckled lightly. “Perhaps Flitwick will manage to let Longbottom suspend him in mid-air again like last week, and we can all get some much needed shut-eye.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “I really should just skip it. Going to be up late tonight dealing with that Potion and Snape’s detention.”

“He might let you go early to clean the cauldrons.”

Harry sighed. “No, he made it very clear I wouldn’t be able to get into the dungeons until nine o’clock exactly. At least I’ll get to sleep the next night… Oh, damn, no I won’t.”

“You know, if you don’t want to go to the Yule Ball, then don’t. The Weas—Ginny can handle a little disappointment.”

Harry shook his head wordlessly. They ambled on in silence again. Harry broke it a moment later, changing the subject. “Your owl is looking good.”

Draco laughed. “He should. He’s a Malfoy through and through. Couldn’t misplace a feather if he tried.”

Harry smiled indulgently, even though he did not feel the humor he pretended to. “Letter from home?”

A scowl crossed Draco’s face. “Yes. My bi-monthly waste of time, courtesy of my very own owl. I have no idea how she got him back to the mansion without my knowing. He just… flocks to her. It’s ridiculous.”

Harry glanced at him, taking in the flush creeping up his throat. “Have you read it yet?”

“No, and I don’t intend to. I’m just going to throw it away anyway.”

“Then why is it in your pocket?”

For a moment Draco looked vaguely angry, and Harry wondered if he was about to be yelled at in the middle of the empty Transfiguration hallway. But the Slytherin only muttered something unintelligible and looked away.

Harry chewed his lip. He had something to say but he was afraid of how Draco would respond. In the end it was the impatience caused by his lack of sleep that drove him to open his mouth. “You _are_ going to read it, aren’t you?”

Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at him. His jaw stiffened and he looked around with an arrogant sweep of his head before turning back to Harry, his eyes glinting coldly. “What do you care?”

Harry shrugged wearily. He was too tired to argue this. Really, he was. “She’s your mother. You care what she thinks, even if you say you don’t.”

“Shut up, Potter! Why the hell do you always think you know everything about me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “The same way you knew exactly what to say last night?”

Draco’s mouth was open. He looked at Harry for a long wordless instant, then hitched his shoulders fitfully and licked his lips. His arms came up around his torso. Harry watched, feeling as if he were standing outside himself.

“Thank you for last night, Draco.” His voice shook a tiny bit on the boy’s name.

Draco’s eyes met his, filled once again with the concern that had flooded them in the library. He scrutinized Harry intently. “Did… did the dream come back?”

“No.”

Draco licked his lips again. Harry shifted his feet uncertainly and waited. Finally the blond sighed in frustration and pulled the letter from his pocket. He looked it over, his face twisting in momentary disgust, and then turned a thoughtful gaze to Harry. “I think I’d better find a quiet corner.”

“What?”

The Slytherin rolled his eyes and the easy careless smirk was back, making Harry shiver with relief. “Bound to be long. I have to finish the damn thing before Charms, don’t I?”

He turned and walked off down the corridor, clenching the letter in one hand. Harry watched him as he reached the next hallway, and Draco turned back and gave him a half-smile before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

 _Step 17: Learn what you are dealing with_

 _Charms classroom, 1:30 PM_

Professor Flitwick was indeed floating high above the students’ desks, squeaking out harried directions to a fretting Hermione and a blushing Neville, but Harry had long since stopped paying attention to what he was saying. He knew Hermione would get the teacher down; she always managed to fix everything, especially when it concerned Harry’s rather clumsy roommate. Harry was eyeing the teacher and the rest of the class carefully, and looking for the best moment to escape the room.

When class started, Harry had noticed right away that Draco’s desk was empty. He’d expected the blond to come swaggering in late, a cocky smile on his lips, his letter safely read and done away with. But his spot remained empty for the entire first half hour of class and Harry was beginning to get worried. Neville had managed to raise the teacher to the ceiling while practicing an advanced form of Wingardium Leviosa, and it was then that Harry began thinking he might actually manage to sneak away unnoticed.

Ron, Seamus, Blaise Zabini, and Justin Finch-Fletchley were laughing uproariously from their seats. Pansy Parkinson looked utterly bored, and the rest of the students seemed uncertain what to do with themselves. Some were reading, some doodling, others chatting quietly. No one was paying attention to him. When Hermione began calling placating words up to the floating professor and ordering a sweating Neville to search every page of his Charms text, Harry finally saw his chance. Easing from his chair and lifting his book bag gingerly to his shoulder, he edged to the door, opened it – so slowly he nearly bit his lip off in frustration – and backed through into the hallway. Once out, he took off jogging for Gryffindor tower, bag bumping against his shoulder.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Draco was probably just kicking things around in his room, gleefully ripping the letter and its envelope into tiny shreds. He’d as much as said he was planning to do that, hadn’t he? But Harry felt guilty. He’d pressured Draco into reading it, no matter which way he angled his actions, and he felt slightly responsible. If Draco was furious, he might as well be furious at Harry and actually work off some of his frustration toward his mother instead of bottling it all up as he had been doing.

And there was the nagging thought that perhaps… Draco was not furious. Perhaps the letter had induced an entirely different emotion. Harry reached the portrait hole grimacing, and shouted the password, surprising the Fat Lady. He walked briskly up to his dorm, threw his bag on the bed, and fell to his knees beside his trunk. He dug with both hands until he unearthed the Marauder’s Map.

Draco had sounded so broken that day up on the battlements. There had been a catch to his voice when he had spoken of his mother that Harry had never heard before. Harry had dismissed it as anger then, but now he wasn’t so sure. He still didn’t know what it was, but… he’d seen an echoing gleam in the boy’s eyes in the library and it had stilled his own chaotic fury with its frightening vulnerability.

Harry took out his wand and tapped the map. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Lines snaked out from the tip of his wand, threading over the parchment. Harry waited impatiently as Hogwarts came into view, then searched quickly through the rooms, growing even more unsettled as he went over hallway after hallway without seeing Draco’s name.

He finally found him in the Astronomy tower, quite close to the Charms classroom itself. His name was moving back and forth across the room, as if he were pacing, and Harry sighed and got to his feet. He tapped the map again – _Mischief managed_ – and shoved it into his pocket, walking determinedly out of his dorm and down the stairs.

It took him a few minutes to get back to the Charms hallway, and Harry hurried past the classroom he had left earlier to the winding staircase at the end of the hall. He’d gone two flights and was starting the final spiral when Draco’s voice floated down to him. It was muffled and echoing but tinged with anger, and Harry halted, frowning. Was someone up there with him? He continued slowly, trailing one hand along the stone wall. He hadn’t seen anyone else on the map, but then, it had been a few minutes since he’d put it away.

Who could Draco be talking to?

When he reached the door to the topmost tower room, he knocked lightly, three quick taps, but Draco’s voice continued in clipped jarring tones, unbroken. Harry hesitated on the landing, biting his lip. He really shouldn’t go in. He had no idea what was going on in there. But Draco sounded so… _angry_. Even through the heavy oak door, his voice was the deadly hiss of a snake’s. Harry’s chest constricted at the thought that he had prompted this with his pressure to read the letter, and he steeled himself to enter to fray. If Draco wanted someone to yell at, he would be that person. He probably deserved it anyway: the Slytherin had helped him last night, much more than Harry could possibly thank him for, and he’d seen fit to return the favor by practically ordering Draco to relive whatever twisted pain existed between his mother and himself. Harry closed his eyes and cursed himself for being such an arse, then pushed the door open resolutely and stuck his head in, opening his mouth to call to the boy.

Draco’s name died on his lips and he stared at the scene before him. The tall blond was pacing back and forth with hasty, enraged steps, one hand tugging at his hair… and he was spitting words at no one. There was nobody else there. Two pieces of white paper lay on the floor, the envelope several feet away from either of them, and Draco held a third sheet tightly in his hand. Harry squinted and saw lines and lines of scrawled writing on the nearest discarded sheet.

“I should be at home, she says.” Draco laughed harshly and shook the paper. “Well, surprise, I’m not coming home, you bony hag, not to you or your stupid dead ideals!”

It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was not addressing him. Indeed, the Slytherin did not even seem to know he was there. His fury was apparent, butting against Harry in hot waves. He swallowed, frozen halfway through the door. Draco did not speak for a moment, pacing and pacing as he read, never quite turning enough to see Harry.

“Oh, that’s _so_ easy for you to say, isn’t it?” Draco’s voice was laced heavily with a sarcasm that made Harry wince. “It wasn’t your argument, _no_ , not ever, who the fuck cared whether or not Dad was going to die? You didn’t even know he’d received the bloody Kiss until I told you!”

All of a sudden, a new guilt seized Harry. He shouldn’t be hearing this. Horror crept up inside him as he realized what he was violating here. He knew, just knew that Draco would rather throw himself from the top of the tower than admit to any of this, especially to him, Harry Potter. He wondered if anyone had ever known the things that were flowing from Draco’s mouth like scalding oil and knew without a doubt that he was the first. He shivered convulsively.

“She wants to know why I dishonor her. Oh, that’s fucking _rich_. What the hell did honor ever mean to you? You weren’t even proud enough to call me your son in public, or maybe you were too damn proud, that was it, wasn’t it? Well, guess what, you don’t ever have to worry about that again because I’m never going to connect my name to yours, you can bet on that!”

Harry tasted blood and found that he was biting his lip again. But he could not look away, could not force himself to stop listening. All the pain he had begun to suspect the existence of was now flooding from Draco… but Harry had never even guessed there was so much. That it cut so deep. The Slytherin’s body convulsed so suddenly Harry was certain he’d been noticed, but Draco was staring hard at the sheet in front of him, jaw clenched so tightly he was shaking.

“You want to know what I’m _thankful_ for? I’ll tell you what I’m bloody thankful for, you damn bitch! I’m thankful that Harry sat there and kept me from bleeding out into the fucking mud when you didn’t give a shit about me at all!”

The words hit Harry like a battering ram. His heart slammed into his ribs so suddenly he gasped. Draco froze, his hand closing reflexively on the paper. He spun around, fist raised, and Harry gaped. The Slytherin’s eyes were red-rimmed, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. His face was flushed an ugly crimson and he stared aghast at Harry where he clutched onto the door. His mouth worked silently and something akin to horror flooded his features. The Slytherin’s body seized in another shiver. The paper fell from his fingers, drifting in slow sweeps to the floor.

Harry’s mind was a mist. The only thing he could comprehend was that Draco _knew_. He knew, and he _had_ known, and… he’d said nothing. Harry sought for words, something, anything to break through the pain in Draco’s face, the shattered desperation showing in his eyes. “Oh my God, Draco…”

The boy suddenly breathed in, the inhalation rocking his entire frame. He squeezed his eyes shut. Harry saw his throat bob and a single tear slide down his cheek. When he opened his eyes again, they were full of weariness. Defeat. Draco shook his head, swallowing once more.

“Not today, Harry. Please, just… don’t. Not today.”

Harry couldn’t answer. He watched as the other boy bent stiffly and gathered the fallen sheets of paper in trembling hands. He straightened again, eyes fixed on something just past Harry’s head, and walked toward him. Harry did not move as he passed through the door and retreated down the stairs. Each step grew fainter and fainter, and still Harry remained where he was, listening until the sound faded away completely.

* * *

 _Step 18: To hell with what he wants_

 _Dungeon hallway, 3:22 PM_

Harry should have been up in his room attending to his potion. He should have been in Transfiguration class. But he didn’t give a fuck. He strode down the hallway toward Snape’s classroom, past the passage leading to the Slytherin portrait hole without even sparing it a glance. His stomach was jumping madly, but he was going on adrenaline now and there was nothing else for it.

He’d gone back to his room and sat there for a full hour and a half stirring his simmering cauldron before realizing that he couldn’t do this anymore. Before he could think about it in more detail, he went to his closet and jerked his coat out, shrugging it on quickly. He grabbed another off the rack, a tattered black one that had belonged to Dudley once upon a time, pocketed his hat and gloves, and marched from the empty dorm.

Following the map again was no trouble. His target was not moving this time, and Harry felt as though he did not even need the map. He was being drawn there, his steps surer than he felt, the thick black coat slapping against his legs. Classes were in session and Harry barely saw anyone except for a ghost or two, who passed him with a nod and disappeared through the nearest wall. Harry paid them no heed, just walked forward, heading deep into the bowels of the castle.

The main dungeon hallway was long and dark, the blue flame torches casting long flickering shadows on the stones. He rounded one corner, then another, and saw him sitting against a dingy wall, his head resting on bent knees. Harry walked up and stopped right in front of him, so close he could feel the body heat emanating from the boy.

“Draco.”

The Slytherin looked up wearily. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw who was addressing him and then his entire body sagged. “Harry, please go away. I don’t want you here right now.”

Harry waved a hand. “Shut up, Draco. Get up, we’re going.”

Draco squinted at him, and Harry could see that his eyes were still red. His voice was lifeless. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Harry held the black coat forward. Draco eyed it silently before frowning at him. Before he could speak, Harry bent and jerked him to his feet by both arms. He took him by the elbow and tugged him down the hall. “Come on.”

Surprisingly, Draco did not struggle. He followed sluggishly, allowing Harry to move his body forward. Harry’s chest clenched at the despondent look on his face.

"Where are we going?” he asked softly.

Harry didn’t answer, only pulled Draco along, out of the dungeon and up several flights of stairs. He led him to the one-eyed humpbacked witch, then spun around and shoved the coat into Draco’s arms. “Put it on. You’ll be cold if you don’t.”

Draco sighed. “Harry—” …and stuttered into silence as Harry opened the statue. The Gryffindor shoved until the opening was wide enough for two, then looked at Draco. The Slytherin’s eyes were wide, very unguarded. Cold air rushed from the gaping black hole in the stones, kissing Harry’s cheeks. He tugged his hat out and put it on. Draco’s lips moved but no sound came. He tried again. “What is this?”

Harry only nodded to the coat clutched in Draco’s hand. “Put it on. Please.”

Wordlessly, Draco pulled the worn coat over his arms, adjusting it gingerly so the buttons lined up. Harry reached into his pocket, drew out his gloves, and tossed them to the other boy. Draco caught them one-handed, staring at him. Without a word, Harry turned and ducked into the tunnel. After a moment the Slytherin followed, and Harry spelled the statue closed.

The walk seemed shorter than Harry remembered. He could not see Draco in the darkness, but he could hear his cautious steps beside him growing more sure as they went along. The light from his wand bobbed brightly in front of them, and Harry concentrated on the toes of his boots entering and leaving the small circle of luminescence. Eventually the tunnel sloped upward, and he slowed down and put out a hand to stop Draco. He extinguished his wand and reached forward, feeling for the trapdoor. His fingers found the hinges, then the small space between panels, and with a light push he had it open. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, he went up and gestured for Draco to follow. The blond climbed out, a bewildered frown on his face. “Where—”

Harry grabbed his arm, putting a finger to his own lips, and Draco quieted. He led the Slytherin up the stairs and eased out through the door into Honeydukes. There was barely anyone in the shop; Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen it so empty. Luckily, everyone had their backs to the cellar door. The two boys exited and Harry watched with a vague sense of amusement as Draco’s eyes widened in shock.

The Slytherin kept silent, however, and soon they were outside in the chill wind, walking down the street away from the main line of stores. Harry hesitated ever so briefly passing the Three Broomsticks, and Draco grabbed his arm with one hand. “I don’t—”

He fell into silence again and Harry looked at him calmly, watching the play of emotions around his eyes. He’d never seen it before, not in Draco’s face, and it was like learning a new spell, feeling the magic shiver through his limbs.

“I know,” he said quietly. Draco’s eyes searched his face. Harry merely turned, signaling the Slytherin to follow, and continued up the street. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, bathing what was still left un-shadowed in burnished gold-orange. The wind whipped at them once they came out from between the stores, and the Shrieking Shack came into view. Draco stood stock still, his mouth open slightly, and Harry touched his arm.

“Come on.”

They walked past the tottering house over the frozen earth, and it was hesitantly that Draco stepped onto the brittle frosted grass of the fields behind it. There were patches of snow here and there, but the fields were mostly uncovered, gleaming with a false warmth under the sunlight. The grass itself was long dead from all the snow of the last two days. It crackled underfoot. Draco turned to look at Harry mutely, but he chose to ignore the haunted expression in those grey eyes and gave him a faint smile instead. “I figure we have about an hour and a half before Honeydukes closes.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Harry, you…”

He waved it away, shaking his head. “No, be quiet. You need this.”

They picked their way across the crunching icy surface until the Shrieking Shack was over the nearest rise and Hogsmeade itself seemed a tiny village made of gingerbread, tufty white smoke rising from various chimneys. Harry breathed out into the cold air and watched the steam flutter into nothingness in the biting wind. Draco walked beside him looking at the ground.

At last the Slytherin spoke. His voice was soft, placid. “Shouldn’t you be in Transfiguration right now?”

Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye. “How do you know about that anyway?”

Draco huffed a breath into the frosty air. “I’m observant is all.”

“Well.” Harry cupped his hands around his mouth and blew, rubbing them together. “I can afford to miss. Bloody well haven’t missed a class of McGonagall’s in seven years.”

Draco said nothing and they walked on. Eventually they reached the next small hill and turned without verbally agreeing, walking the crest of the rise. Draco suddenly made a frustrated sound and shook himself. “Why the hell didn’t I know about that passageway?”

“Well, you never were very keen on knowing the Weasleys, were you?” Harry responded.

Draco glanced at him, then turned away and shrugged. “Didn’t seem terribly important.”

“Hmm.”

Several minutes went by without either of them speaking. Harry could feel his companion relaxing little by little. His face was passive, body no longer tensed against the cold. He walked unhurriedly, his steps natural and unconcerned. Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his threadbare coat and took a deep breath, letting the icy air cool his lungs and flow through him.

“You knew,” he said softly.

Draco’s shoulders hitched a tiny bit at Harry’s words. He inclined his head just a little. Harry nodded and bit his lip. “Why did you pretend you’d forgotten?”

The Slytherin’s sigh sounded exasperated. An annoyed frown marred his features. “If you hadn’t been eavesdropping like a bloody spy, it wouldn’t fucking matter.”

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, alright? It wasn’t like I was trying to hear you.”

“Then why the hell were you there?” Draco stopped abruptly and scowled at Harry. “How did you find me anyway?”

He ignored the last bit, meeting Draco’s eyes tiredly. “Look, I was a complete bastard. You… helped me last night and I practically forced your mum’s letter on you. Some repayment, yeah? I was just—”

He stopped and looked away. Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You were just what?”

“ _Worried_ about you. Okay? There. I was worried because I had no business getting into something that wasn’t my problem, and I did, and then I fucking did it again trying to correct it. I’m _sorry_ , okay?”

He turned and began to walk again, more quickly. After a moment Draco crunched up beside him with swift steps. “Why do you always do this?”

“What?”

Draco sighed. “Try to solve everything. All these years you’ve been doing it, a damn kid diving head first   
into things you shouldn’t even be involved in.”

“Well, actually, Draco, I think I _was_ rather involved.”

“I’m not just talking about Voldemort!”

Harry stopped and looked at him, and Draco shifted on his feet, gaze skittering away to the distant mountains as if his answer lay there instead of with the boy in front of him. “You shouldn’t even have stopped that night. He could have gotten away, hidden again. But no, the great Harry Potter had to sit down and heal an injured kid instead.”

“What, you just wanted me to let you die? Please, Draco, that’s complete bullshit. You don’t want to be dead, even I can see that.”

Draco shrugged, grimacing, not looking at him. Harry watched him and realized belatedly that the other boy did not know how to respond. He stepped a little closer. “What do you remember, Draco?”

The Slytherin did not look at him for a long time. “It hurt,” he whispered. Harry just watched. Draco glanced toward the sky, then suddenly he crossed his arms over his chest in a flurry of movement.

“What’s your worst memory, Harry? The most terrifying one.” The blond was looked at him steadily, eyes hard and narrow. Harry blinked and considered.

“There was a time in third year… when I thought Sirius was going to die. There were…” He shuddered. “Dementors all around us. I’d only just found him, and then he was dying right there in front of me and I couldn’t… I thought…” He took a moment to breathe. “I can also sort of remember the night my parents were killed. I hear them screaming. That’s what I heard when the Dementors were trying to kill us.”

Draco looked at him piercingly. He sighed. “The last battle is my worst memory. And I don’t remember much of it… except how much it hurt. My whole body felt like it was burning, and I knew I was going to die, right there in the mud with no one around to see. Or care. Just bleeding out like that, slowly. I’d never been so...”

He stopped and shifted uneasily. His hair fell across his forehead obscuring his eyes. Harry looked at a patch of glistening snow a few feet away. “And then what happened?”

Draco looked at him sharply. He snorted. “That doesn’t count.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t count as my worst memory.”

Harry frowned, confused. “Why not?”

Draco clenched his jaw and studied him. He looked away again and took a deep breath. “Well, then you were there. So, obviously I wasn’t scared anymore.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. Draco laughed shortly. “What, surprised? I remember you. I even remember what you said. You grabbed my hand and you told me to trust you. And I thought, how stupid. What reason had you ever given me to trust you? But I did. And you were right.”

He looked straight at Harry, met his eyes and held them. Harry could only stare back. After a moment Draco hunched his shoulders and began walking again, and Harry forced himself to follow.

“I knew you were dreaming about it in the library. When you finally woke up I could see it in your eyes. As if you were burning too. And I didn’t… I didn’t want you feeling that, and it suddenly made perfect sense that you _had_ felt it and were still feeling it, even half a year later, and it brought it all back.”

Harry looked down. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Draco went on. “And then you said what you did and I couldn’t let you feel that burn over killing _him_. He _deserved_ to die. You don’t. You never did. I like it much better when you are alive, and when I can see that you know it.”

Harry swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. Draco perused him with a glance and nodded once, almost to himself. They moved over the grass slowly. Harry found his bearings in the craggy outcroppings of the nearby mountains. They jutted haphazardly into the sky, their edges frosted white. He fixated on them and whispered,” Your mother’s not worth it, Draco.”

There was no answer, but he could feel the other’s eyes on him.

The sun was sinking lower, dousing the landscape in red. The very foot of the mountains was turning a dusky purple color, shadowed by the angle of the hills. Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders, letting out a contented sigh. Harry smiled at the sound and closed his eyes.

“Did you finish your potion?” Draco asked.

Harry’s good mood slipped a bit and he frowned. “Not yet. But I can do that tonight. I can’t even touch it until around 8:30, and then I’ll just be constantly adding an ingredient for the next three hours. It’s really fragile at this stage.”

“You can’t do it earlier?”

Harry shook his head. “Checked the book this morning. Even asked Hermione about fifty times. It has to be done precisely or it’ll go wrong. At least I’ve already written the final draft of my essay.”

Draco nodded. “What are you going to do about Snape’s detention?”

Harry sighed and clenched the insides of his coat pockets. “I’m going to have to skip it and hope he understands.”

Draco didn’t even need to make the soft disbelieving sound he did. They both knew how unlikely that was.  
When the sun had set fully and the air cooled so quickly Harry began to shiver, they made their way back to Honeydukes. Draco charmed the storekeeper into heading into the back room to check her inventory of Ice Mice for him, and the two of them slipped through the door to the basement and entered the tunnel.

“This could be very useful, this tunnel,” Draco commented as they walked along through the cold dark silence. “Maybe you could hide from Snape in Hogsmeade.”

Harry chuckled. “Now there’s an idea.”

The Slytherin grinned, his teeth glimmering faintly in the light from Harry’s wand. “Wish I’d known about this sooner. Think of all the chocolate I could have bought.”

This time Harry laughed full out. Draco sighed and then glanced at him.

“But how _did_ you know where to find me? The Astronomy tower I could have believed. But twice in two hours?”

Harry smiled and stopped, pulling the Marauder’s Map from his pocket. He tapped it, spoke the words, and watched Draco’s incredulous stare as the inner workings of Hogwarts slithered into existence.

“Good Lord…”

“Yeah.”

Draco perused the tiny moving names for a few moments. The he squinted at him over the map. “Explains a lot though, you know.”

Harry laughed again, feeling warm in spite of the frozen tunnel air. “Yes, I expect it does.”

* * *

 _Step 19: Commit to what you’ve started_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, 8:30 PM_

Harry began adding the last ingredient in small sifting pinches at exactly 8:30. His own patience with the tedious task surprised him, and he carefully stirred and dropped the finely ground Night Blooming Fernunculus Root into the cauldron. The potion went silvery red at the very first touch of the rare plant, threads of color drifting gradually out until the mixture was a deep burgundy, glittering with each frothing roil. Harry smiled. It was his favorite shade of red.

When he looked up a while later and saw that the clock read 9:13, something in his gut clenched uneasily. He sighed. He could just picture Blaise Zabini standing there in the Potions classroom tapping his foot, arms crossed over his chest. And he could practically hear the angry explanation the dark-haired Slytherin would give Snape. It would not be pretty, not at all. But there was nothing else for it. Detention was something he felt he could make up if he had to, even if it included an embarrassing dressing down in front of the whole class the next morning. But his project… no, that was worth much more than any extra points he could have gained in Snape’s book by cleaning cauldrons until they sparkled. And it was not as if he would be earning extra _anything_ for that anyway.

 _Hell, look at the bright side,_ Harry told himself as he added another pinch of Fernunculus Root. _Maybe he’ll schedule a make-up detention that very night and I’ll have a real excuse for missing the Yule Ball._

But the idea of Snape’s displeasure nagged at him over the next two hours until he was nearly beside himself with nervousness. He could barely concentrate on the slow monotonous procedure for his potion. His mind kept flying to possibilities for managing to deal with the cauldrons tonight and therefore avoiding Snape’s wrath in the morning. When the last little bit of Fernunculus Root had dissolved in the cauldron, Harry gave it a quick couple of stirs and covered it. He double-checked his notes and set the fire a bit higher until he could hear the broth bubbling lightly inside. It was 11:22 by his watch. Harry pulled his shoes on and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, thanking whatever god was on his side that night that his roommates were all down in the Common Room or out at the late Astronomy session on the grounds with Firenze. He hurried down the stairs and crept unnoticed through the room. Ron and Hermione were playing cards and they were arguing, Dean and Ginny looking back and forth between them a little apprehensively.

“Well, I just think it would be good if you actually talked to him about what’s bothering him, because he’s obviously upset!”

Ron scowled. “Oh, please, Hermione, I think we both know what’s bothering him! Or rather, _who_.”

Harry reddened as Hermione began her retort to that, and eased through the portrait hole before Ginny could voice the questions she was so obviously dying to ask. He hoped his friends would be discreet if they really did know, and way off-base if they didn’t. But it didn’t really matter anymore. The problem Ron and Hermione were so sure about was no longer an issue. He smiled a little, remembering the events of the afternoon, and then skirted down the corridor.

By the time he got to the ground floor, he was practically running. He managed to miss a Prefect coming out of the Great Hall and dashed down to the dungeons, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the door to Snape’s classroom would still be…

But the heavy door was locked tightly, the room deserted. He peered through the keyhole and was met with darkness. His heart plummeted into his stomach and he slid down the door, trying to catch his breath. He was too late. However long Blaise had stayed, he was obviously gone now. There was no way Harry could get in.

After about ten minutes, Harry pulled himself wearily to his feet, tried the handle one last time just in case, and began the slow trudge back to Gryffindor tower. It was out of his hands now, he reasoned, but the thought didn’t make him feel any better. He passed his friends silently – they were in the middle of a rather raucous game of Exploding Snap – and went back to his room. His heart feeling heavier than ever, Harry lowered the fire under his potion. It would need to simmer all night before he could cool and bottle it for class. He got his essay together and pushed his books into his pack, and then fell into bed without brushing his teeth or even changing. The last thought that ran through his mind as he drifted off to sleep was, _Wonderful. Just wonderful._

He was really going to catch it tomorrow.

~tbc~


	7. Day Seven

**DAY SEVEN: December 22nd**

 _Step 20: Learn something new_

 _Dungeon hallway, 9:28 AM_

Harry stood outside the Potions classroom, clutching the strap to his book bag in one hand, the sample vial of his potion project in the other. His feet seemed to be melded to the floor. _The door is right there, you idiot, just go in!_ his mind urged, but Harry just stared at the handle. He must be the last person still outside the room, he thought, and that only made it worse. He’d watched his classmates file past him alone and in groups, all lugging various containers full of oddly colored mixtures. Harry was starting to think he should not have waited to go in. Maybe it would have been better to let Snape yell at him earlier when the entire seventh year Potions class had not been there to witness it. But it was too late for that anyway, and besides, knowing Snape, he would not have properly humiliated Harry until there was a fair crowd. The man could be so damned vindictive.

Harry had seen Draco enter the classroom just as he came around the hallway corner. The Slytherin looked a little worn out, his eyes smudged underneath with faint shadows. It made Harry wonder if he had judged incorrectly when he thought Draco had gotten a huge jumpstart on his project. But his concern for the other boy faded in the face of his own nervousness.

Well. There was nothing else for it. He had to go in eventually, or risk being docked even more points by the perpetually irritable Potions professor. And, he reasoned, he’d done a good job with his project. An excellent job. It had turned out just like the book said it would, down to the precise self-sustained temperature of the liquid. If nothing else, he had a right to be proud of his work. Snape couldn’t deny it, no matter what else he might do. Harry took a deep breath, clutched his sample vial firmly in his hand, and pushed the door open.

The class was murmuring, rustling, and he made his way quickly to his regular seat next to Ron and Hermione’s table. He did not look up at the teacher’s desk, but he could tell by the noise level that Snape had not yet arrived. Harry sat down and set his potion atop his desk, then hunched down to wait. Precious few minutes of pride were left to him. At least it was the last day of classes for two weeks and he could wallow in his humiliation in the comfort of his own room with his own friends teasing him.

He glanced over at Draco and found the Slytherin sitting straight and tall in his chair, looking calmly toward the front of the room. Blaise Zabini sat next to him, and Harry cringed inwardly at the frown on the boy’s angular face. But Blaise was not really frowning at him. Harry was perplexed to see the uneasy look turned on Draco instead. Blaise looked vaguely unhappy. Confused and uncertain. He kept darting his eyes back and forth from Harry to Draco.

Harry’d expected some sort of angry exclamation from Zabini, or maybe just a fierce glare for wasting his time the night before. But there was nothing like that. He didn’t have much time to ponder over this, however; the door to the storeroom banged open and Snape stalked in.

“Your projects, class. On my desk this instant.”

Several students walked theirs to the front of the room; the more advanced wand users, Hermione included, levitated their samples and essays neatly to the professor’s desktop. Hermione gave Harry a small smile and flicked her wand, magically lifting his vial and parchment out of his hands and directing them across the room. Snape watched the proceedings and gave a long-suffering sigh. “That’s quite enough wand usage in this class. If your wands are not out of my sight in five seconds, they will be confiscated and used to fuel the fires under your cauldrons.”

Harry pulled his small newly scrubbed cauldron from his bag and set it on the table. His hands were trembling so violently he nearly dropped it. Why didn’t Snape just get it over with? What was he waiting for? Everyone was here; there were plenty of people who could laugh at him as Snape sneered and self-righteously declared him a fool. So what was the hold up? Harry’s teeth were clenched so tightly his jaw was beginning to hurt.

Finally, Snape looked over in his direction. The sour-faced man stared for a long moment, raised an eyebrow excruciatingly slowly, and walked directly toward his table. Harry took a deep breath and waited, watching Snape’s lip curl as he approached. Here it was, the moment he’d been dreading. He looked up to meet the man’s eyes and prepared himself.

“Mr. Potter.” His name slid off Snape’s tongue like liquid silver and Harry fought not to flinch. The professor eyed him disdainfully for a long silent moment. Then he turned his head away with a dismissive jerk. “Your attention to my cauldrons was… adequate. If I were you, I would make certain I read the section in the text on scouring those vessels with non-iron base metals just in case you should happen to be assigned this particular task in the future.”

Harry looked at him blankly, his mouth dropping open. He furrowed his brow and tried to make sense of it. What was Snape talking about? He had just made up his mind to ask, come hell or high water, when a movement behind Snape caught his eye: Draco’s hand, flicking discreetly across his desktop. Harry looked at the Slytherin curiously. Draco caught his gaze and gave him the slightest shake of his head, raising one eyebrow. As Harry watched, Blaise looked over and fixed that same confused uncertain expression on his friend before looking away again pensively.

And suddenly Harry _understood._ Or thought he did.

“Potter, are you paying attention?”

Harry jerked his gaze to Snape and stuttered, “I—Yes. Yes, I will be sure to look over that… section. Thank you.”

Snape frowned at him bad-temperedly and whipped around, gliding away. “Textbooks to page three-hundred-and-fifty-two. Today we will be brewing a harmless form of Invisibility solution. This will count as ten percent of your midterm grade; I would advise everyone to remember that you are not on holiday yet.”

Harry stared at Draco mutely and noticed the faint smile on his lips for the first time. The Slytherin nodded to him in a patient manner and turned to his text, but Harry could not tear his eyes away. He was certain that Draco Malfoy had been down in the Potions classroom around nine o’clock the previous night. Blaise was glaring at Harry rather openly now, a fact that only confirmed his suspicions. The Gryffindor looked back at the blond now removing a set of fine silver potions spoons, and something shifted in his chest. Warmth spread through him and he looked away quickly before Zabini could see the wide smile forming on his face.

* * *

 _Step 21: Ensure the support of friends_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, 1:22 PM_

“It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Harry opened his eyes at Ron’s voice, and found his best friend standing over his bed looking down with a hard expression. He blinked and sat up, searching for his glasses. “What’s Malfoy?”

Ron handed him what he was looking for and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. He was grimacing in the way Harry immediately recognized as the don’t-shit-me-I’ll-have-my-say look. Hermione was rather good at that particular expression, but Ron gave it an entirely dangerous edge Harry had long ago learned to appreciate. “Come on, Harry. The reason you’ve been so bummed out lately? What has the great arse done now?”

Harry smiled and moved over so Ron could sit down. The redhead folded his lanky form onto the bed, pushing aside Harry’s half-closed hangings with one hand.

“He hasn’t done anything, Ron. Why?”

Ron threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Harry, you have to toss me a lead here. Come on, we’re best friends. If you want to talk about something, I’m more than willing to listen.”

“Wait a minute, Ron.” Harry pushed himself up to lean against the head of his bed, an amused smirk on his face. “I really don’t know what you mean.”

Ron frowned at him as if waiting for the punch-line, and then his eyes widened and he began to rub his forehead with his fingers. “Knew I should have had Hermione do this. Look, Harry. It’s no secret that you’ve been in a less than stellar mood lately. I totally don’t mind. Trust me, I’ve had my share of off-moments—”

Harry snorted, garnering a pained look from his friend. Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine, laugh. Go ahead, I’m well aware that you consider that to be an understatement. I’m just saying it’s okay for you to be mad about something. But…” Harry’s roommate pursed his lips as if reaching a decision. “But it’s not okay for you to just… keep silent. If you have to yell at me in order to talk about it, fine. I don’t care, I just don’t want you to keep it inside. Too many problems have come from… that.”

Harry smiled gently and reached out, squeezing Ron’s shoulder. “You’re right. And I won’t, I promise. But everything’s fine.”

Ron glanced down at Harry’s hand on his arm and his eyes narrowed. He met his gaze once more with a frustrated look. “Alright, Harry Potter, you’d better own up this instant. I know that git’s done something! You were moping around all of Sunday and half of yesterday. If he’s done anything to hurt you, I swear—”

Harry cut him off with a laugh. “You’ll hex his eyes from his face?”

Ron scowled and pulled back. “Actually I was planning on going after something else this time.”

Harry’s brows shot up. “ _What_ did you say?”

His friend shook his head. “Harry, you were a mess a couple days ago. And now suddenly you’re right as rain. I don’t believe it. You used to pull this stuff last year. I learned my lesson then, and so help me, you _are_ going to tell me what’s wrong, or I’ll get Hermione to come up here and dose you with half a cauldron of Veritaserum. That was her project for Snape, and you _know_ it’s a perfect mixture!”

Harry shook his head. “Alright, alright! No need to go calling Hermione. You want facts, I’ll give you facts. Just believe me when I say I’m not upset anymore.”

“Hmph. I’ll believe it when I have proof.”

Harry sighed. “Ron, Draco hasn’t done anything bad to me. Not for the last couple of days.”

At his friend’s sudden cry of ‘Aha!’ Harry held up a hand and hurried on. “No, no, Ron… okay, so he did ditch me unexplainably in Hogsmeade on Saturday. But we’ve worked it out, and there’s no problem. I’m not angry anymore, really.”

Ron’s face was skeptical. “And yesterday?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I… well, you know I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

Ron nodded. Harry continued. “Well, I was in the library with Draco… He offered to help me work on my project write-up – no, don’t you pull anything weird out of that, it was perfectly harmless – and I sort of fell asleep. On the table.”

He took another breath and plunged in. “I had that nightmare again.”

Ron’s expression melted into one of horrified concern. “Oh God, Harry, why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t need to go through that by yourself!”

“That’s just it, I didn’t. Draco helped me. Honestly, Ron, he woke me up and talked me through it… and I have to say he really helped me deal with some of the aspects of it that I hadn’t paid attention to before.”

“What did he want?” Ron asked, voice edged with suspicion.

“Nothing. He didn’t want anything. I think it scared him just as much as it did me… if not more.”

Ron hesitated, then nodded, still frowning deeply. Harry decided he could go for broke. “We had a long talk yesterday. I found out a lot about him, and he found out stuff about me, and… it was nice. I don’t feel uncomfortable around him at all. He’s just like us, really. A little harder to crack, but once you do… Ron, look, today, well actually last night… He did my detention for me.”

Ron’s eyes bulged. “Whaaaaaat?”

“Yeah. Cleaned every cauldron in Snape’s room, plus he convinced Zabini to look the other way or something. Which I don’t doubt he’d do. They’re pretty close, I think, as close as someone can get to Draco.”

“Malfoys don’t scrub cauldrons!” Ron scoffed. “He had to have an ulterior motive.”

Harry shook his head impatiently. “No, that’s just it. I helped him yesterday. Took him to Hogsmeade—”

“Through the tunnel?”

“Yes, and—”

 _“With the map?”_

“Yes! Now would you please just—”

“You didn’t show him your Invisibility Cloak, did you??”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ron! The point is, he knew I was completely swamped with the Potions project, and I told him I would have to skip my detention, there was no other way I could get the project done on time – and he must have… gone to Snape’s room and done my detention for me.”

“Draco Malfoy did your detention for you.”

“Yes. For no other reason than that I needed help. I mean, what could he possibly stand to gain from it?”

“Other than your trust?” Ron countered.

“Well, if that’s it, he’s got it. He’s had it for a while now. And don’t think he hasn’t earned it, Ron.”

His friend pondered for a long moment, rubbing his neck with one hand. He kept looking up and starting to speak, but closing his mouth perplexedly again. Finally he crossed his arms fitfully and gazed at Harry, careful concern apparent on his freckled features. “I still think he could hurt you, Harry.”

“Ron…”

“No, listen to me. I don’t trust him. If you do, I think that’s… fine. But I won’t sit by and let him hurt you. If he does, he’s going to have to answer to me, and I can’t say I won’t relish the opportunity.”

Harry searched his friend’s face, and then nodded slowly. Ron sighed. “Look, Harry… I didn’t like this whole idea you had from the beginning. I still don’t, not really. But I’m not going to sabotage it. I thought it would fail on its own, but if you think it won’t… Just… look, just be careful. I don’t want to see you in any more pain. I’ve seen enough of that to last forever.”

Harry nodded again, not knowing what he could say. Ron smiled into the silence, looking Harry over as if trying to memorize him. Suddenly he leaned forward and pulled him into a swift hug. Harry blinked, then patted Ron on the back and smiled. The redhead released him and rose, the familiar cocky grin once again fluttering over his face. “Just don’t expect me to invite the git to Christmas dinner or anything. I still need my days off, you know.”

Harry chuckled. “Too bad he’s staying here for hols.”

Ron’s eyes widened and he groaned. “Oh, of all the… Hermione!” He headed for the door, pulling it open and calling down the stairs as he headed for the Common Room. “Hermione, just listen to this, we’re never going to have a peaceful moment…”

Harry listened as his friend’s voice faded into an unintelligible murmur and smiled. Peaceful moments indeed.

* * *

 _Step 22: Sacrifice is necessary_

 _Great Hall, 8:26 PM_

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable in his dress robes. For one thing, they did not _exactly_ fit him anymore. Not that he was ripping through them that very second or anything, but it was more like a vague overall tightness around the shoulders and wrists. He kept wanting to tug at his sleeves to get them settled back where they were supposed to be instead of riding up his arms just a bit where they were _not_ supposed to be. But at least he was more comfortable than he would be out on the dance floor. Here leaning against the wall it was just his sleeves. Out there it would be his hair, and his lack of intelligent conversation, and what he jokingly liked to call his dancing. He could already see about ten couples out on the floor that could put him to shame once a day and twice on Sundays.

Good thing it wasn’t Sunday.

Harry sipped his Butterbeer and shifted to lean on the other shoulder. Really, he was just happy watching from here. Hermione and Ron were out waltzing across the floor and it made Harry smile. It was obvious that Ron was not the supreme authority on dancing either, but it was also apparent that he couldn’t care less. He kept dipping and twirling Hermione until she was pink in the face and laughing too hard to support herself on her own.

That was what made Harry comfortable. Seeing his friends happy. It always had. He knew them well enough to know that this sort of carefree joy did not come easily anymore; when it did make an appearance, it sent a contagious glow through the room until Harry’s spirits echoed the vibe and he felt willing to gamble his life in order to protect it.

The clincher was that he knew his two friends would drop it all in an instant – the happiness, the comfort, the laughter – if they felt he was in any way in trouble, and that did not mean just physically. The very idea made Harry a little short of breath: that he could garner such an effect from the two people closest to him. It was much better to let them have their moment, watch it, draw from it… and not get himself into an embarrassing situation – like dancing – that could bring it to an end.

His eyes left Hermione and Ron in the middle of an exaggerated salsa step – even Ron had tears of laughter in his eyes now – and floated over the crowd. Ginny and Dean dancing and conversing, Luna teaching Susan Bones a flowery ballet turn, Seamus and Lavender dancing very closely and suggestively in the corner, and… Harry stopped and blinked. Stared.

Padma Patil was with Neville, moving around in a slow circle. Her head was resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, arms wrapped tightly around him. Neville held her gently. His lips moved with words too soft for Harry to hear, and they danced slowly despite the rather chipper beat of the music. Harry felt his heart constrict and blinked again rapidly. He had not expected Padma to be here. She was so quiet now, so reclusive. Rarely talked to anyone, and often went home for the weekends. And here she was, dancing with Neville, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Harry had never had a sister, and certainly never a twin sister. He had no idea how it must feel to lose someone so close.

The war had been bad for everyone. Standing there watching Neville stroking Padma’s back, Harry suddenly wondered if perhaps the people on the other side of the battle could have said the same thing. He’d never considered it before; too wrapped up in his own life, and the lives of his friends. And rightly so. But there were faces missing here, even he could not deny that. People he’d come into Hogwarts with seven years ago as a flabbergasted first year were… not there. Some had just gone to other places, but some were _gone_.

“Ah, Harry,” said a voice. “It makes me very happy to see you have decided to join us this evening.”

Harry looked up and saw the Headmaster gazing at him through his half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore had on luxurious red robes with ivy-colored trim, his snow-white beard flowing down like cotton. He smiled at Harry gently.

Harry returned the smile and pulled away from the wall to stand straight. “I just… felt like coming.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely and raised his goblet to the hall itself. “It seems our dear Professor Sprout has outdone herself once again.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, it took a while, but it looks great.”

Their Herbology professor had brought the afternoon class inside and spent the two hours of the class directing the students as they coaxed vines and ivy up the walls and around torch sconces with their wands. Neville had taken Harry aside and showed him how to intertwine the bright red holly berries now scattered throughout the lush creepers. And Harry had to say, under the twinkling Christmas tree lights and the golden glow of the torches, the effect was lovely.

Dumbledore looked at Harry keenly. “Professor Snape has just informed me that the Potions projects he has already graded this year are tolerable, which means of course that he thinks very highly of them. I believe yours in particular caught his notice, Harry. I feel I must congratulate you on a job well done.”

Harry blinked. What, had Snape sat down the second class departed and picked his potion apart immediately? It was a little much to take in, and he could only nod. Dumbledore smiled faintly, watching him.

“And how are the other elements of your life going, Harry? I trust you and your friends have been keeping busy with the less serious aspects of growing up?”

Harry peered at the Headmaster for a long moment before answering. “I’m doing alright. Lots to do this year.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, I expect there is.”

“I didn’t think I’d come tonight but… it _is_ Christmas after all. I’ve just never really paid much attention to it before.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I have found, Harry, that sometimes doing the unexpected can have better consequences than one imagines.”

Harry looked at him. The old man was smiling mysteriously, sipping from his goblet. Harry opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at something farther out in the room.

“It would seem that your friend requires your presence for something that may end up a trifle humorous.”

Harry followed his gaze and saw Ginny waving to him enthusiastically. Her auburn hair was in soft curls, and she wore a forest green dress and a bright smile on her face. Behind her was the Ravenclaw Seeker, completely oblivious to the redhead’s current actions. He sighed. Dumbledore made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

“I believe I will go ask Madame Hooch if she would like to dance.”

The Headmaster gave him one last smile and moved away into the crowd of chattering students and teachers. Harry squared his shoulders and headed for Ginny.

“Harry! Oh, Harry, I’m so glad you’re here. Listen, Megan’s right over there standing next to that big holly wreathe. You’d give her the Christmas present of her life if you asked her to dance.”

Harry nodded, smiling weakly, and Ginny grinned so brightly the torches looked dimmer. He walked toward the shorter girl. He really didn’t know her that well, just that she was a Seeker, and that she was actually quite good at the Wronski Feint when not distracted by certain other Seekers. He went up and touched her on the shoulder, smiling encouragingly.

“Hi. Megan, is it? Happy Christmas.”

The girl whirled around and her blue eyes grew so large he thought they would pop free from her face. “Um… um, y- yes. Happy… Megan, yes. H-Happy Christmas.”

Ginny was smiling excitedly from a few yards away. She gestured for him to go on. Harry focused on the girl in front of him. “Would you… would you like to dance?”

Megan’s face went ashen and her mouth dropped open. She stuttered for a moment, then glanced around herself frantically, as if looking for someone. She stared up at Harry in bewildered terrified amazement. “M-me?”

Harry blinked and leaned closer.

“Yes. Um, are you alright?”

Megan gasped and snapped her mouth shut, backing away, tripping a little in her haste. “E-excuse me—I—” Suddenly she turned around and ran, her long skirts fluttering behind. Harry stared after her, puzzled. He turned to find Ginny standing there with an amazed expression on her face.

“Goodness… I had no idea she’d act like that! She must like you a lot more than I thought. Megan! Wait a moment…” She dashed off after the fleeing girl.

“Well, that was certainly entertaining,” said a voice at his elbow. Harry turned and saw Draco standing there looking amused. Harry gaped in surprise, then smiled widely.

“What are you doing here? Thought you had so many better things to do than waltz around the dance floor for three hours.”

“What, and miss all this fun?” Draco looked around, his eyebrow so high it could have leaped up into his shining hair. The Slytherin was in glistening black dress robes, hair combed carefully back from his face. He shrugged dismissively. “I just… figured it was my last one and I might as well…” He glanced at Harry, then away. When he looked back, the easy smirk was firmly in place.

“Besides, I couldn’t let you have all of these adorable—” He blinked suddenly and frowned, “— _hiding_ fourth year girls.”

Harry groaned and covered his face with his hand. “Bloody hell, that was a disaster. Oh, I don’t know what Ginny was thinking would happen. I can’t dance at all.”

Draco squinted at him interestedly. “Not even a two-step?”

“The fact that I have no idea what you’re talking about should tell you all you need to know.”

Draco laughed. “You know, where I grew up, this would have been unheard of.”

Harry glared half-heartedly at him. “Well, now you’ve heard of it.” He looked after Ginny and Megan and sighed. “She certainly took off fast, though. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered. Definitely flattered. Anyone can see you are the catch of the party. She just couldn’t handle all that power.”

Harry laughed. “I think I’ve already had about enough of this party.”

Draco smirked at him mysteriously. “Oh, no. You aren’t finished yet.”

“What?”

The Slytherin took Harry’s Butterbeer from him and set it down on the nearest table, sliding into a chair. “I bloody well just got here. Pulled these damnable robes out of the mothballs, dragged myself up from the dungeons for a detestable dance, and I am not going to sit here and endure it alone. You can leave later. For now, sit down. Show some Christmas cheer.”

Harry half-laughed, half-sighed. He drew a chair out and joined Draco at the table. Maybe the night wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.

* * *

 _Step 23: Learn to relax_

 _History of Magic classroom, 10:01 PM_

“Did you see the look on her face?”

“Yes, it’s really too bad. And after the Weas—after Ginny’d finally managed to convince her to brave the confines of a dance with the most sought after student in the bloody school.”

“Oh, come off it, you know it was because of you, Draco. She could’ve handled me, but not with you sitting there smiling at her like a Cheshire cat.”

Draco raised his goblet, a cocky grin on his face. “Can I help it if I’m gorgeous?”

Harry laughed. He was feeling slightly light-headed from the cider they were drinking, but it felt good to be a bit off-kilter. He’d been so tense over the last few days. And seeing Draco relax and let go more than usual was a nice surprise. They weren’t drunk, certainly. Harry knew what it felt like to be drunk. The war had taught him that very quickly. But this… this was nice.

Draco sipped his cider and leaned his head back on the wall. “Nice to get out of there. I’d imagine they’re still dancing.”

“Most likely. Hell, Dumbledore was on his seventh partner and he didn’t even look tired. I could never do that.”

Draco nodded his agreement, eyes closed. They were sitting against the far wall of the History of Magic classroom. Harry’d lit a torch when they entered and it cast a flickering warmth over the Slytherin’s face. Harry felt much more comfortable having taken off the top layers of his robes; he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and it felt loose, less confining. Like his normal clothing. Draco had likewise discarded his top cloak. His pristine white shirt made his skin look tanned in the torchlight.

Suddenly the Slytherin’s eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. Harry watched dazedly as he walked to the middle of the room, suspended his cider in mid-air, and began spelling desks out of the way. They slid neatly and rapidly to the sides of the classroom, lining up against the walls. Draco pocketed his wand in his trousers, plucked his goblet from the air, and drank from it.

“Well, get up, Potter, I’m not standing here for my health.”

Harry frowned quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

Draco sighed exasperatedly and spread his arms wide. “What does it look like? Get off your ass, no one ever learned to dance sitting on the floor like a drunk.”

Harry choked on his cider. “You’re going to teach me to dance?”

Draco rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Good Lord, Harry, you are such an uneducated ingrate. No one should go through life without at least knowing the waltz.”

“Says the pompous rich snob.”

Draco snapped his fingers. “It has its virtues. _Get up_.”

Harry rose unsteadily to his feet, put his goblet carefully on the floor, and walked over to the Slytherin. He was unable to keep the snicker down and Draco narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Potter, and give me your hands.”

The Slytherin settled one of Harry’s hands on his right shoulder and took hold of his free hand firmly. He slid one arm around Harry’s waist and the Gryffindor blinked. A small sliver of sobriety snaked its way through his head and he paused momentarily to breathe. Draco Malfoy had his arm around him. Harry sighed at the warmth, the strength he could already feel in the wiry hand against his back. Draco frowned at him impatiently.

“Harry, pay attention. Now the step goes like this… yes, sort of, except you should let me lead, you prat, you’ve no idea what you’re doing.”

Harry nodded, grinning, and the loose light sensation took over again. Draco moved him around the room, counting in threes and coaching him incessantly.

“No, wait a minute, you’ve got your arm all crooked… Look at me, you have to stand up straight and step this way, follow me… Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Harry, you’re terrible!”

Harry snickered, clutching Draco’s shoulder. “Only at the waltz, I assure you.”

The Slytherin’s grin widened, eyes gleaming. “Then how about a tango instead?”

Harry looked up. “Do you really know how to tango?”

Draco glared at him. He pulled a long face, nodded seriously and said, “No,” and both of them dissolved into laughter, clutching onto each other to keep from falling. Draco finally subdued himself long enough to summon his goblet of cider dregs and say, “But I know there’s dipping and dragging, and a bunch of sharp bone-snapping movements.”

“And a rose,” Harry said, summoning his own drink and taking a long sip. “Don’t forget the rose.”

Draco nodded, raising his cup in acknowledgement. “Bloody dance of love, you know. Stupidest thing in the world. My parents used to do it all the time at parties and look where the fuck it got them.”

Harry looked at him, very aware that their arms were still around each other. “Maybe they _were_ in love, Draco.”

Draco snorted and banished his now-empty goblet to one of the desks. “In love? I think I know my own parents, Potter.”

The Slytherin disentangled himself and walked a few feet away, hopping up to sit on one of the desks. Harry walked over and took the one next to it, folding his legs beneath him. Draco leaned back.

“Love’s one of those elusive things everyone thinks they know about, but no one ever really experiences. What do they have to go on anyway? Only those stupid Muggle romance novels or the predictions of a crackpot diviner like Trelawney.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “Well, she has her moments.”

Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders, working the kinks out of his neck. “But usually she’s just spouting bizarre predictions about you dying, or me turning evil or whatever.”

“Is that what she said to you?” At Draco’s nod, Harry laughed. “God, she had something for everyone, didn’t she?”

Draco’s lip curled. “You should thank her. Initially I just started acting nice to prove she was the fraud I always knew her to be. It was rather fun, though I think Blaise thought I was off my rocker being all polite and cheery all the time in class.”

“Would’ve liked to have seen that, I think.”

“Well, it’s all yours now. Bloody behavior seems to have grown on me.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Draco, I hardly consider you polite and cheery.”

Draco sighed and collapsed back on the row of desks. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Harry swirled his glass around, thinking. Something Draco had said… he frowned, remembering. “But you don’t think love exists?”

“Oh, I think it exists. Sure, why not? Fairytales had to get it from somewhere. I just don’t think I’ve come within a mile of it my whole life.”

Harry studied him. Draco looked calm, unconcerned. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hands cocked behind his head. “Oh, come on, surely you’ve seen it. Some couple somewhere.”

Draco turned to look at him, a vague frown on his face. “Harry, can you honestly say you’ve been in love, ever?”

“Well, no… but I’m only seventeen.”

Draco considered, then nodded and looked back at the ceiling. “But you’ve already lived through more than most people four times older than you have.”

Harry bit his lip and looked into his glass. “We all have.”

Draco didn’t respond. The room was silent for a time. The torch guttered low, making the shadows flicker. Harry’s shadow fell across Draco and the glint of the moon through the high windows bathed the Slytherin’s face an eerie bluish color.

“Did you see Padma tonight?”

Draco stirred. “Patil? Yeah.”

Harry nodded, subdued. Draco sighed. “Is she with Longbottom? They were together all evening.”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Draco sat up and rested his arms on his knees. “I was with her, you know. The day Parvati died. Padma was screaming like the world was ending. I almost thought it was.”

Harry chewed his fingernail. “I think this may be the first time she’s done anything… with anyone else. I haven’t talked to her in months.”

Draco nodded. He sat there staring at his hands, and Harry felt the need to be moving. He slid off the desk and grabbed their cloaks. The other boy looked up.

“Come on, let’s walk. The school’s nice at night.”

Draco smirked. “Go out much after curfew?”

Harry just smiled mysteriously and tossed Draco’s cloak to him. The Slytherin narrowed his eyes and followed him out into the hall.

The school was silent. It was odd moving from the warmly glowing hallways to the darker deserted ones. The stones in the darkened hallways were bathed in blue light from the moon shining through the windows. They walked quietly for a time, then fell into easy chatter about what they were planning to do after school. Harry learned that Draco wanted to go into the Potions department at the Ministry. He himself was looking into Quidditch professionally, but he didn’t hold out much hope for being recruited. Draco laughed at that, conjuring up more cider for both of them.

“Oh, please. With the flying you did last week? They’ll jump on you.”

Harry blushed. “No, I’ve seen the professionals. They’re much better, really. Besides, I sort of want to work at the Ministry too.”

“Let me guess. Auror.”

Harry smiled. He took his wand out and began fiddling with it, turning it between his fingers. “Maybe. Though Moody kind of scares me. If I turn out like that, there’s no way.”

Draco’s voice was gently condescending. “Oh, yes, I’m sure that being a complete bat and knocking one of your own eyes out are requirements for the job, Harry.”

“Well, excuse me, but you didn’t have to sit there in the middle of the night and learn every possible way to combat dark magic last year.”

“Actually, I did. And I think he’s the most psychotic human being I’ve ever met, other than Voldemort.”

Harry agreed whole-heartedly.

They were walking down the Transfiguration hallway between the golden glow of the torches when Harry yawned deeply. He checked his watch. “Bloody hell, it’s nearly eleven-thirty.”

Draco smirked. “Too late for a drunk Gryffindor?”

“I’m not drunk, you prat. Just a little buzzed. I haven’t been getting much sleep this past week.” He shivered slightly and yawned again, then remembered something. “Draco, thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do my detention.”

Draco shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “It was nothing. Though I think Snape would have been a bit more admiring if he knew it was me.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, the best I could ever hope for is ‘adequate’. But that’s nothing new.”

Draco glanced up at something above Harry, and then frowned and peered more intently. His eyes widened and he stepped back a bit. “Oh, for crying out loud…”

“What?” Harry looked up as well and blinked, then laughed shortly. “Well, well.”

A tiny sprig of mistletoe dangled from the ceiling just in front of McGonagall’s classroom. It had a red ribbon looped around the stem, and the ice-green leaves looked full and robust in the torch light. “Guess someone wanted to catch people coming out of class. I never noticed.”

Draco was eyeing him uncertainly, not answering, and for the first time Harry realized that they were both standing directly under it. He looked at Draco, eyes wide. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Draco shifted from foot to foot. He was frowning. “So…”

Harry studied the other boy and made a split second decision. “It’s alright, there’s no one here. I won’t hold you to it like some people would.”

Draco continued to look at him silently. He glanced up at the mistletoe and then back at Harry. Harry laughed. “It’s just a stupid holiday tradition. I never held with it anyway. Kissing’s overrated.”

Draco let out a relieved laugh, and the tension was gone. He shrugged his shoulders. “Kissed many people, Harry?”

“Just one. And it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be in my opinion.”

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. “Trust a Gryffindor to give up after one try.”

Harry shrugged sleepily. “I know what I know. Never pretended any differently.”

Draco gave him a half-smile and took a breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Alright, then I think I should say goodnight. You obviously can’t hold your liquor and you’re about to pass out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry called out a parting shot to his retreating back. “Just remember you’re the one who’s calling it a night.”

Draco glared at him and then shook his head, grinning. He went around the first corner out of sight. Harry sighed and leaned against the door of the Transfiguration classroom.

His night hadn’t been a total bust after all. Far from it. He closed his eyes and smiled, picturing Draco’s face. The Slytherin had been laughing nearly the whole night. Harry had never seen him in such a good mood before, and figured it had something to do with the cider. _Can’t hold my liquor indeed._ But it had been wonderful to see, regardless if it was his presence or the alcohol’s that had caused it.

The Yule Ball was probably long over by now. Harry sighed again contentedly and was pushing off the door to go back to Gryffindor tower when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up just in time to see Draco come briskly back around the corner, his robes still draped over one arm. Harry quirked a smile at him and laughed curiously. When the Slytherin was a few feet away again, he shook his head in amusement. “Thought you were going to sleep.”

Draco’s face looked determined. “Fuck that,” he said in a disjointed voice.

Harry was still processing his words when Draco slung his velvet cloak to the floor and slipped his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him against his body.

“Wait, wha—”

And then Draco was kissing him. Harry’s eyes shot wide and he froze for an instant… until the Slytherin’s hand came up to cup his cheek gently. Harry made a small sound at the contact. Draco’s lips were soft, flavored with the spicy taste of cider. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He let his eyes fall shut and raised a hand hesitantly to Draco’s shoulder, returning the kiss. It was like a signal had sounded. Draco pulled him even closer and deepened the kiss, tilting his head, and Harry locked his arms around the other boy’s torso, feeling the firm strength of the muscles in his back. This was _nothing_ like his kiss with Cho Chang. Nothing. There was so much vitality here, so much life… and so many unknowns. Draco’s body felt impossibly familiar, warm against his, his lips tentative and exploratory, and Harry sighed, breathing in the fresh scent of Draco’s hair and skin. His body was zinging with energy, every touch tingling, and it wasn’t nearly enough, and yet it _was_ and—

Draco ended the kiss abruptly, leaving Harry gasping and seeing spots. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus. The blond was staring at him with wide eyes. He had the expression of an animal suddenly startled. Harry saw that he was breathing heavily, grey irises flicking back and forth over his own face. He looked as if he had only just realized what was happening. It was all Harry could do to think clearly, his mind still hazy from the kiss. He opened his mouth to say something, to calm him… to wipe that uncertainty from his eyes. But he never got the chance.

“Draco?” said a voice, jarring in the tense silence.

The Slytherin glanced toward the sound of his name and his face went white. Harry turned almost too quickly, struggling to keep his balance.

Blaise Zabini stood at the end of the hallway, utter surprise and bewilderment written all over his face. He looked back and forth from one of them to the other. “Draco, what…?”

Harry felt a shudder ripple through Draco’s body. The blond pulled away, leaving a cold wake behind. Harry looked at the Slytherin and saw that his expression was twisted into something unrecognizable. He looked like he was going to be sick. Harry touched his arm tentatively, but the other boy didn’t react. “Draco, are you—”

Suddenly Draco’s gaze whipped to his. It was full of confusion and… fear. The Slytherin backed away, stumbling a bit. He glanced at Blaise again, then at Harry, and his eyes were swimming. His mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came out. The blond shuddered again and then turned and practically ran down the hall. He shoved past his housemate without a word. Blaise looked at Harry, frowning accusatorily, and then ran after Draco. “Draco, wait.”

Harry took a deep breath. There wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs and his head felt dull, thick. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He could still feel Draco’s mouth on his, the heat of his hands on his body. Harry licked his lips and tasted cider. The torches guttered down the long hallway, and for the first time since Draco had left, Harry realized how alone he was.

~tbc~


	8. Day Eight

**DAY EIGHT: December 23rd**

 _Step 24: Pinch yourself_

 _Great Hall, 9:42 AM_

Harry decided to give up the pretense of eating entirely. Not only that, but also the pretense of picking at his food. He just stared at it as it sat there on his plate.

He was finally somewhat rested, and that alone amazed him. He’d expected to be up all night pondering the implications of what had happened. But as soon as he’d climbed into bed, his body had seen fit to shut down, sending him immediately into deep sleep. When he woke up in the morning he found he hadn’t even moved.

And now he wasn’t even remotely interested in pretending to be hungry. It wasn’t that he was incredibly upset. Just uneasy. He wasn’t sure what to make of Draco’s mad rush down the hall the night before, and to tell the truth, he was still reeling from that kiss. It haunted him: the firm _knowing_ grip of Draco’s arms, the press of warm lips, the simple sense of comfort he’d felt for that moment. And then… it was gone.

He had no idea if Blaise had seen the kiss, or if he had walked up directly after. He had no idea what Blaise had been doing in that part of the castle. But he knew how much it stung to suddenly be bereft of that heat he’d so quickly come to need, and he knew Blaise’s presence was somehow responsible for it. Draco had left… no, run away as soon as he saw him. But the question was, was it Blaise, or Draco?

Hermione sat down next to him and reached for a glass of orange juice. She looked fairly worn out. Her hair was a bit more messy than usual, her eyelids drooping sleepily. “Mmm, good morning, Harry. Have fun last night?”

Harry muttered noncommittally, and was glad of Hermione’s tiredness: it kept her from noticing his dejected state. His friend took a sip of her juice, stretched her hand out for a piece of toast… and stopped. Slowly, she turned to him. “Harry?”

Well. So much for that.

Luckily, his other housemates – minus Neville, who headed for the Ravenclaw table – arrived in time to halt Hermione’s questions. She looked frustrated at having to keep silent, but Harry was thanking his lucky stars that he had a friend who was so concerned about discretion. Ron was there after all, and he certainly would not be. And Harry had no desire for his personal problems to be common knowledge in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses.

At this point he wasn’t entirely certain where his private life stood in the other two houses.

Seamus sat down with a thump and grabbed Harry’s orange juice. Harry did not even try to stop him. “God, I wish I’d gotten to know Lavender a bit better years ago. Think of all the time we’ve wasted!”

“So, are you two together now then?” Ginny asked, her mouth half-full of scrambled eggs. Seamus grinned mysteriously.

“Well, I don’t want to brag or anything… but she found me utterly irresistible.”

Dean coughed and smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Oh, leave off, you great twat. You’ve been pining after her for the last six months and you know it!”

Ginny burst out laughing, dropping her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter, and Ron joined her. Seamus’ face was turning red.

“Alright, I officially fucking hate you, Dean.”

More laughter. Harry caught Hermione’s eye and saw a pleading look there. He sighed and shook his head at her. _Not now,_ he mouthed. She frowned, then nodded hesitantly and turned back to her breakfast.

The owlpost arrived moments later, and Harry leaned back to let Pigwidgeon land with an awful tumble-thump right in the middle of his untouched plate. Ron snatched his owl from Harry’s food with a hurried apology, and quickly untied the large envelop from his leg. Pig hooted cheerfully until Ginny took him and started stuffing food down his gullet.

Ron ripped open the envelope and began to read. “Oh, good! Mum and Dad are coming tomorrow morning, and they’re bringing everyone along.”

“What do you mean everyone?” Hermione asked.

Ron was grinning. “I mean _everyone_. Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Percy… They’re all coming!”

Harry felt stirrings of Ron’s excitement. He hadn’t seen the rest of the Weasleys in some time. It would be nice to catch up with the twins, see how Charlie’s dragon work was coming along. During the war, the dragons had all gone who knew where. Just vanished overnight, as if they knew something bad was about to happen. It had worried the Order members a great deal at the time.

Ron began to read the letter out loud for Ginny’s benefit, and Harry went back to staring, this time across the room at one of the Hogwarts crest tapestries lining the wall. He needed to think.

At least he could be certain of one thing: Draco had initiated the kiss. God, had he ever. Harry had not forced the mistletoe issue because he could hear the consternation in Draco’s voice and knew immediately that it would be pushing too hard too fast. And surprisingly, it hadn’t bothered him at all that he should wait. But then… Draco had come back and… Harry’s body shivered. In that instant, all of his worries and nervousness had flown out the window. Draco wanted this. The Slytherin was so sure about it, every little press of his fingertips had told him so, the way he’d held Harry… And then, Blaise. And Harry didn’t know what to think.

His eyes fell on the Slytherin table. Draco sat toward the far end, his head clutched in one hand, leaning over a plate of food that looked as if it had not been touched. His eyes were tightly closed. Blaise was sitting next to him, a scowl on his face. He was talking rapidly to Draco, intently, and Draco kept shaking his head. On the other side of Blaise was Pansy Parkinson… staring straight at Harry. He blinked. Her gaze was troubled in a different way than Blaise’s. Thoughtful. Her brown eyes burned into his until Harry tore his gaze away. He was in time to see Draco slam his hands down and hiss something at Blaise. The other Slytherin quieted, lips set in a hard line. He glanced Harry’s way and his scowl deepened. Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry as well. Abruptly, the blond got up and stalked out of the Great Hall. Blaise said something to Pansy, his expression still twisted, but Pansy’s gaze did not move from where it had been fixed the entire time.

* * *

 _Step 25: You deserve answers_

 _Front atrium, 11:37 AM_

Many of the younger students in Gryffindor tower were leaving that day to catch the train for London. None of Harry’s dorm-mates were going, but some of their friends in other houses were. Harry followed the rest of his friends down the stairs to catch Luna and Lavender before they left. Seamus’ good-bye was fun to watch: he sidled up to Lavender so quietly she jumped when she turned around and found him there. Blushing, she reached out a hand to shake his, but Seamus slapped it aside playfully and kissed her right in front of everyone, dipping her so deeply he would have left Hermione and Ron in the dust. Lavender was laughing so hard by the end of it that Seamus couldn’t hold her and they fell in a heap, scattering all of her belongings. A few yards away, Luna gave Harry a quick hug, her eyes on the tangle of arms and legs.

“I expect he’ll be beside himself until she gets back,” she said thoughtfully. “It would be really nice to have someone like that to return to.”

Harry nodded, smiling at her with a warmth only she could muster in him at the moment. “Yes, that would be nice.”

“Happy Christmas, Harry. I do hope you like my present. It’s the definitive work by the author, and I’ve found he really handles the criticism he gets quite well.”

Harry furrowed his brow curiously, but Luna only picked up her bags and left the hall with a cheery wave. Neville was embracing Padma in the corner. Harry looked, and then looked again. Padma was smiling. Not a very big smile, but it was there nonetheless, bringing a little of the youth back to her face.

There was a tap on his arm, and Harry turned to find Megan the Ravenclaw standing there, face redder than a fire hydrant. She shifted nervously on her feet, clutching at the strap of her backpack. “Um, I, uh… I just wanted to apo- apologize for last night. I was, um…”

Harry smiled at her. “It’s alright. I seem to cause a bit of nervousness in most people.”

Her face broke into a beaming smile and her eyes glazed a bit. “Oh, no, don’t be so hard on yourself, you are wonderful, really, I should know, I—” Suddenly her eyes bugged out again and she stuttered into silence. Harry was amused. “I—I mean… oh gosh, I—”

Harry sighed, still smiling. He reached out and clasped her hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “Happy Christmas, Megan.”

The girl stared at their clasped hands, then gaped at him. She bit her lip and smiled so brightly he thought she would explode. “Happy Christmas!”

With a sudden gasp, the girl whirled around and ran for the door, still blushing furiously and staring at the hand he had shaken. Harry heard a chuckle behind him.

“Jeez, Harry, don’t give her any hope. It’ll just disappoint her later,” Ron said, grinning.

Harry shrugged. Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “Neville’s going to go with Padma to the train. The rest of us are heading back to the Common Room for a game of cards. Oh, and Harry, Hermione’s been acting rather odd. All quiet and frowning and such. Do you have any idea what’s wrong with her? Because I can’t get it out of her.”

Harry was trying to find some way to hedge around the subject when he saw Draco. Well, not just Draco. The blond was standing near the entrance to the dungeons watching the students leave. Blaise was over with a couple of second year Slytherins, a tolerant smirk on his face as he pointed out something on what looked like a map.

Harry made a quick decision and headed for Draco, leaving a slightly put-out Ron at the foot of the staircase. The Slytherin had a vacant look in his eyes, and it wasn’t until Harry was a few feet away that he noticed him and jumped. Draco’s jaw clenched and he flicked his eyes in Blaise’s direction. Harry licked his lips.

“Hi.”

The Slytherin mumbled something that sounded like hello and looked down. Harry hesitated, then went on. “You forgot your cloak last night. It’s up in my room, but it will only take a minute for me to get it if you want.”

Draco shook his head, lips pressed together. “I’ll get it later. It’s no big deal.”

“Draco, are you alright? Last night I wasn’t sure if—”

Suddenly the blond flipped his gaze to Harry’s. His eyes narrowed darkly. “Just leave it, Potter. I’m fine.”

Harry’s mouth went dry and he backed up a step. “No, you’re not, any idiot can see that. I think we should talk abou—”

“What’s there to talk about, Potter?” Draco snorted, a smirk riding his features. “It was just a damn Yule Ball.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t talking about that,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes, I know what you were talking about.” Draco sighed and looked around again, gesturing. “And you’re going to bring up something like that in public again? Like last week?”

Harry looked around. Ron was standing by the stairs, as was Hermione, and she was biting her lip. Most of the rest of the students were gone, having been herded out the door by the teachers. Blaise stood a short distance away, frowning, his dark eyes glinting. Harry lowered his voice even more. “If you want, we can go somewhere else, but I really think—”

Draco stepped away, putting a little more distance between them. “I disagree. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“What?”

The Slytherin gave an exasperated huff and leaned in again. “I don’t need to go anywhere else to say this. This was a mistake, right from the beginning, Potter! I should never have let you talk me into this spending time together thing. It was in my mind the whole time, that it wasn’t just friendship to you, but I didn’t pay attention, and now look what’s happened.”

Harry felt anger building in his chest. He glared at Draco. “What the hell are you talking about? Last night wasn’t an accident.”

Draco threw up his hands dismissively. “I was drunk! We both were. Last night _was_ an accident, Potter! We slipped up.”

“ _You_ were the one who kissed _me!_ ”

There was a soft gasp from Hermione. Blaise moved a step closer, chewing his lip.

Draco’s face contorted in anger. “It was a mistake, then. One I don’t ever intend to repeat.”

Harry felt like he’d been socked in the chest. He fell back a step, his mouth working, but no sound coming out. He stared at Draco. “I thought… but you…”

Draco sighed and shook his head fiercely. His eyes were full of uncertain anger, but his words bit sharply. “ _No,_ Potter. I never wanted that, I made it clear the very first day you asked, but you just pressed on with it!”

Abruptly Harry was being pulled aside. Ron got in between them, fists clenched so tightly the freckles on his hands had disappeared. “Fuck you, Malfoy!” he said hotly.

Draco sneered at him, a new level of anger blossoming on his face. “Oh, fuck off, Weasel! For once in your miserable life, don’t get involved in what doesn’t concern you!”

Ron’s face turned an ugly shade of red and he made as if to grab Draco, but suddenly Blaise was there, pushing him back. “Don’t touch him, Weasley, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Ron gestured at Draco. “This is all his damn fault, and if you knew anything about him, you’d realize that! But then, you’re just like him, aren’t you?”

“Ron, stop it!” Hermione cried.

Blaise pushed Ron away with a sneer. “What the hell do you care what I’m like, Weasley? We’re all just stupid conniving evil Slytherins to you anyway.”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm to keep him from jumping on Blaise. “That’s not what we think! If you all just shut up for one second—”

Ron struggled against his girlfriend, still yelling at Blaise. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You both treat every Gryffindor in the school like their feelings don’t matter, it’s always about _you_ —”

“Please stop,” Harry pleaded softly.

Blaise and Ron stilled, Hermione between them. Everyone looked at him. Harry stared at Draco. He knew he looked terrible, absolutely bared for all to see, but it hardly mattered anymore. Draco met his eyes, and the scowl melted away, leaving a helpless look. But then the blond glanced at Blaise and back, and there was that hard anger again. Harry dropped his eyes.

“Just stop it, all of you. It doesn’t matter anymore, don’t you know that?”

The anger on Ron’s face was replaced by shame. He let go of Blaise. “Harry—”

“Just leave it alone!” Harry said sharply. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a rake. “Just… stop _fighting_.”

He couldn’t stay there anymore or he’d break down right in front of them and he couldn’t have that. He turned and made for the stairs. His last look at the small group showed him Blaise’s confused face, Hermione’s worried eyes, Ron’s slack jaw, and Draco’s… Draco wasn’t looking at him.

He had to get out of there.

Halfway up the stairs, he felt Hermione’s hands on his arms, heard her whispering something, but it was just a muddled buzz in his ear. He wanted to sleep until he could convince himself he’d dreamed the whole thing.

* * *

 _Step 26: Picking up the loose threads you’ve left_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, 2:49 PM_

“Did he really kiss him?”

“That’s what Harry says. Says he did it all by himself, Harry didn’t do anything. There was mistletoe, but… I don’t know, Ron.”

A helpless sigh. “That stupid bastard. Why does he _always_ have to hurt everyone?”

Harry listened dully to his best friends’ whispered voices. He had been lying there facing the wall and pretending to be asleep for a little while now, just able to hear the soft conversation over by Ron’s bed. It had bothered him vaguely when it woke him, but then it had faded with everything else into the realm of that which did not matter anymore. Hermione had coaxed what had happened out of him, then sent him to bed, and he’d slept – actually slept – for… well he didn’t really know how long.

“I think there’s more to it; I just can’t believe Malfoy would do this. He asked me where Harry was that one day and he just seemed… so anxious to talk to him, Ron!”

“Oh, come on, Hermione, is it really so hard to believe? Malfoy’s always been a bastard to us, all of us. One week can’t change that.”

Harry sat up quickly and got off his bed. Hermione’s response stuttered into wide eyed silence. They both watched him as he gathered several books off the floor and toed his shoes on. “Going to the library to turn these in.”

Hermione got up quickly. “Harry, I can do that for you if you want.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s alright.”

He walked out of the room, down to the Common Room. Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all sitting in chairs around the fire. They looked up when he came in. Dean cleared his throat nervously. “Harry, are you…”

He nodded silently, gave them a half-wave, and left the tower. He trudged his way down to the library, not really watching where he was going. It wasn’t until after he’d reached the very bottom of the stairs that he realized he’d gone too far. The library wasn’t on the ground floor. Harry sighed and made to go back up when a raised voice caught his ear.

It took him a quarter of a second to recognize it as Draco’s.

The Slytherin was in the dungeon hallway near the stairwell, in the middle of a heated discussion with someone. Harry stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the railing.

“…don’t see what the hell it matters to you, anyway. What I do is my own business, you’ve said that to me so many times I can’t count them all.”

A girl’s voice answered and it was a long moment before Harry realized it was Pansy Parkinson hissing back in an undertone. “Draco, do you like him? …Well, do you? I think that’s the only question you need to ask.”

Draco spat his answer back at her. “As I said before, it shouldn’t make any difference to you! Who I like and who I don’t like… Bloody hell, if I wanted to be with someone, _anyone_ , it wouldn’t be as big a deal as you’re making it out to be!”

Pansy’s voice sounded strangely choked when she answered. “Draco, you just don’t want to get too close to anyone! _I_ should bloody well know!”

“Oh, let’s dredge up a few old memories, shall we, Parkinson? Alright then. Explain to me how I’ve ruined your perfect life!”

“You couldn’t ruin my life if you tried, you arse! You just aren’t that important to me. Not anymore. But you could ruin someone else’s life, and you may have already done so!”

“You’re a liar. Why the hell are you here if I don’t matter to you?”

Pansy sighed. Her voice became placating. “You’re right, you do matter to me. Draco, you’re one of my closest friends. I can’t just stand by while you make a complete mess of the only person you’ve ever managed to connect with since the war—”

“I don’t need to hear this, Pansy! What the hell do you know about the war? Were you there when the Death Eaters attacked? The Dementors? If I remember correctly, you hid at home with your family—”

“Don’t you _dare_ imply that I gave nothing to the cause, Draco Malfoy! My family was deep in, we got you half the information you used to win that last battle. I didn’t want to be out there, I’m not going to lie and say I did. I was terrified! I didn’t want to fight, or be a spy, or put my family’s and friends’ lives on the line – yes, _your_ life – by being a klutz when it was most important that I succeed! We were ordered to stay away, and we did, and you won. But you are about to lose this time and I’m not going to sit and watch it happen.”

Draco snorted. “When did you become such an expert on my life, Pansy? We’ve barely spoken for months, just the casual hellos and what have you. I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but don’t think you can just walk through the halls day in and day out with your eyes averted until I stop bothering to talk to you alone, and then expect you can waltz over here and think you know me! Don’t pretend to be able to advise me when you’ve become the next closest thing to a stranger!”

Pansy’s voice rose. “I don’t want to be strangers anymore, Draco! And I’m sorry I let it go as far as I did, you’re right, I should’ve made more of an effort after the war, but I was dealing with a lot of issues and I just… pushed everyone away. But I don’t want that anymore!”

“And that’s supposed to make it all better, is it? You know, I bought you a present, Pansy. For Christmas. For old time’s sake. A journal for your drawings and your pictures. But I don’t fucking know if you even draw or _take_ pictures anymore! All I know is what Blaise tells me, what I see when you’re with Millicent, and let me tell you, Parkinson, that’s not a whole hell of a lot! Don’t talk to me like a friend because somewhere along the line, you stopped being my friend and just became an acquaintance.”

“Draco, what are you doing? Do you see what you’re _doing?_ You’re still pushing everything away, and when it makes an overture of some sort you just turn around and run, and shove it away so hard it gets damaged. Some things are irreparable, you can’t just sling them around because you don’t want to risk anything yourself!”

“I’ll thank you to leave me to my own life, Pansy! I know what I’m doing, and I certainly know what I want!”

“This could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you and you’re just going to let it go?” Pansy cried.

Harry could practically hear Draco’s scowl. His words grated, low and dangerous. “Leave off, Pansy. You’ve overstepped your bounds. This discussion is over.”

Harry heard footsteps – Draco, walking away. The stride, the heaviness of his footfalls, the muttered curses told him more about the Slytherin’s state of mind than anything he could have seen. He leaned against the railing, swallowing hard, closing his eyes and trying to keep himself from breaking apart.

A soft sniff sounded just around the corner and Harry’s eyes snapped open. He held his breath, heard someone sigh. The sound ended in a shaky sob. Pansy’s voice came, hushed and tearful. “Draco, you stupid arse… You’ve blown it. You’ve just… _blown_ it.”

* * *

By the time Harry made it back to the library and dropped off the remedial potions books he’d borrowed, his head was aching and he was wishing he’d never stepped outside his room. Every movement was draining him. The memory of Draco’s voice shouting in the hallway, and the utter surprise at help from such an unexpected quarter as Pansy Parkinson left him winded and tired to the bone.

So the next voice he heard just outside the library doors nearly knocked him over.

“What the hell did you do to him, Potter?”

Harry turned to see Blaise standing there, an angry frown on his face. He sighed, the last bit of energy he had slipping away. “I don’t know.”

It obviously wasn’t the answer Blaise had been expecting because he blinked and did not speak right away. The Slytherin hitched his shoulders once and tried again, glaring, but now there was confusion under his words. “Well, think of something! You’ve managed to turn him completely upside down in the space of seven days. The least you could do is tell me how to correct it!”

Harry faced the other boy with a steadiness that surprised him. Must have been his last surge of strength before crashing. “I didn’t push him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I thought I knew him well enough to… But I don’t know what I did.”

Blaise’s face did the strangest thing: it crumpled into a helpless frustrated grimace. He grabbed Harry’s arm and pushed him against the wall, hissing into his face. “What _is_ it about you? Why does he let you get to him so damn much? It’s only been seven days and already you’re… _What makes you so bloody special that he’ll let you get so close?_ ”

Harry stared at Blaise open-mouthed. The Slytherin looked him up and down angrily, then released him and stepped back. Harry pushed himself slowly off the wall, watching as Blaise’s face flushed. The boy shook himself, grimacing again, and eyed Harry nervously.

“Look,” he said in a hard voice. “All I know is that my best friend is in pieces, and it’s because of you. Or something you did. I’m not going to watch you walk all over him!”

Harry just shook his head wordlessly, looking down. Tears came to his eyes. When he met Blaise’s gaze again, the Slytherin started and peered at Harry, mouth hanging open. “Potter, what…”

“I didn’t want to hurt him. Never wanted that. But… you can tell him I won’t bother him anymore.”

“Potter—”

But Harry just shook his head again and walked away. His headache was gone, and he just felt empty. Like he’d never be full again.

* * *

 _Step 27: Regression_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, 11: 58 PM_

Harry woke himself with his own cries for the first time in three months. The smell of blood still lingered in his nostrils, the red mist swirling in his eyes. Ron was at his side in an instant, enfolding Harry gently in his arms. Seamus, Neville, and Dean looked on anxiously as Ron rocked Harry until the hitching of his body quieted. There were tears in Ron’s voice as he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, “That bastard… I’m going to _kill_ him… You were doing fine until this whole thing…”

Harry let Ron’s warmth soothe him into sleep again, never opening his mouth to tell his friend that there were no slitted red eyes in the dream this time. Just clouded sightless grey, and dull once-shining hair fanning out into the thickening mud.

~tbc~


	9. Day Nine: Christmas Eve

**DAY NINE: CHRISTMAS EVE, December 24th**

 _Step 28: Give up_

 _Gryffindor boys’ dorm bathroom, 7:35 AM_

The Harry staring back out at him from the mirror was no one he recognized. The dark hair was his, mussed into wayward spiky tufts, as were the greener-than-green eyes. The thick-lensed glasses. He was even wearing his old yellow nightshirt with the Chudley Canons blazoned across the front in peeling orange letters. But it wasn’t him.

The face was too old. There were too many shadows under the familiar eyes. And there were tear tracks dried on the cheeks. Harry never had tear tracks.

He sighed and splashed water over the smooth face of the mirror. It made a disgruntled sleepy murmur, the first voice other than his own that he’d heard all morning. It was only just becoming light outside now, the sun peeking weakly over the tops of the mountains. Harry had been up for an hour already, drawn out of sleep in a gradual slide. Ron had finally fallen asleep on top of Harry’s blankets, his arm flung out to the side, breathing nasally. Harry had smoothed a quilt over his friend’s slumbering form and gone down to the Common Room to rankle with himself in solitude. The fire was out, the room filled with the chill of the newly fallen snow outside. Harry curled up under one of the blankets on a couch and watched the room go from midnight blue to gray as the morning crept up.

The cold finally drove him back to his dorm. The sleepy heat of the room tried to envelop him, but he moved through it to the bathroom, and that was where he was, barely able to hear his friends’ snores. He was starting to think that Christmas, all aspects of it, was not a holiday meant for him.

He’d had nice Christmases at Hogwarts, especially after the nonexistence of the holiday for him at the Dursleys’. But the Christmas that echoed most vividly in his mind, the one that should have been a happy memory of being with the friends and family he never knew he had… was tainted. When he pictured that Christmas, all he could think of was Sirius. He’d had a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this year would give him a new memory, just as vivid and encompassing, but without the sorrow attached to it with iron wire.

Harry let out a humorless laugh. The sound was dry in the stillness.

He shed his clothes, shivering in the cool air, and went to the nearest shower. Stepping under the hot stream was painful and gloriously warm. Harry let it run over his neck and shoulders, down his legs; he raised his palms to cup the water and watched it pool in the small basin before running over the sides of his hands and down his arms.

It was time to stop being a child about this. He’d received his answer. Hell, it was the same answer as the one he’d gotten the day he first asked Draco for more than friendship. But he was so unprepared to discount everything that had happened in between the two answers. Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. The scalding water hit his face, making him gasp. No, that was ridiculous. He couldn’t discount it, any of it. It would have been just as foolish to do that as to carry on like nothing had happened.

But that also meant he had to let it go.

Somewhere during that week, in between the snow angels and the impromptu Quidditch practice, the nightmare and the walk in the iced-over fields, Harry had stopped wanting Draco to be _his_ and started wanting Draco to be _happy_. At one point he would have considered them one and the same, but that was clearly not the case. Harry shivered in spite of the heat. _You’re ready to give up, I think,_ his mind whispered.

“I’m not ready.” Harry whispered back, and bit his lip. “But it’s done, regardless.”

It hurt already, a sharp stinging in his chest. The images of Draco just after crying, of the slow easy dip of his broomstick, of his face when he’d looked up from the snow and finally noticed just how much bluer the sky looked from there… they pricked at him with tiny claws.

Draco’s hand sliding around his waist, his lips meeting his. The way his mouth moved when he intensified the kiss, his chest expanding against his own as he breathed— Harry slid down to a crouch on the floor of the shower and wrapped his arms around his legs, rocking on his feet. He pressed his eyes against his knees and tried not to cry.

But the tears came anyway, and they were hotter than the stream of water cloaking him in mist.

* * *

 _Step 29: Admit that you’ve given up_

 _Front atrium, 11:37 AM_

Harry was enveloped by embrace after embrace as each Weasley managed to find his or her way to him. The twins were already pulling out lists of merchandise, pointing to the more marvelous inventions of the recent past. Harry nodded and perused along with them, not really taking anything in, but glad of the noise and life surrounding him again. Hermione, Ron, and the rest of his dorm-mates had been tiptoeing around him all morning. It was rather nice in some respects, as Hermione had gone down to the Great Hall and returned with toast and fruit for breakfast. But then she’d sat around mothering him, trying to get him to eat, and he just couldn’t manage more than a few bites. Now, however, with Charlie spinning colorful stories of the discovery of the oldest dragons in the Himalayan and Balkan mountain ranges, and Bill’s self-confident, easy presence at his back, Harry was finally finding the warmth that had eluded him all morning. Even Percy was in high, if still slightly pompous, spirits, listening to Ron’s retelling of the Yule Ball.

Mrs. Weasley wrapped Harry in a rather suffocating hug when she finally got through the press of her sons and the other students, and then stood back to cup his face in her hands. She sighed. “Oh, Harry, it _is_ good to see you again. My goodness, I think you’ve grown another few inches since I last saw you!”

George poked his mother. “Mum, don’t be ridiculous. He’s still exactly one inch taller than the tallest feather on your Easter hat.”

“Yes,” Fred added importantly. “But Mum, the good news is, if you’re shrinking instead—”

“—then at least you’ll no longer make him sneeze with the blasted thing when you hug him,” George concluded.

It felt good to have the twins back.

Hermione’s parents showed up a few moments later, looking utterly bewildered until Dumbledore took them aside and settled them with Earl Grey and biscuits. More parents from the Order were arriving, and the Grangers accepted Percy’s offer of a tour. After a few muddled minutes of organizing, the odd group set off.  
“Hogwarts has always had four separate houses to its name, each one named after one of the four founders…” Percy’s self-important voice echoed off the stairwells as he began the climb to the first floor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione trailed behind in comfortable silence. They were just passing the dungeon hallway entrance when Draco walked around the corner and stopped short. Harry froze.

The Slytherin was wearing his black traveling cloak, and had his knit cap clutched in one white-gloved hand. Draco’s eyes widened. His mouth opened and he closed it quickly. Harry felt his stomach flip. He let out his breath in a long silent whoosh and started to move past the other boy.

“Harry.”

Harry swallowed at the sound of his name in Draco’s voice again, and turned slowly back to face him. The Slytherin seemed to be at a loss for what to say. His eyes flicked around, finally settling on Harry’s face uncertainly. Ron and Hermione had come to a halt a few yards in front of him, and Harry could see Hermione’s hand on Ron’s arm out of the corner of his eye. The redhead looked furious, but remained silent.

“Draco,” Harry said, managing not to sound like his voice was being twisted somewhere around the vicinity of his abdomen. Draco’s eyes met his. He looked so lost.

“Harry, about yesterday…” The blond licked his lips and glanced away again. Took a deep breath and frowned. “Blaise said…” He stopped again and stared at Harry, lips pursed tightly.

Harry sighed and shook his head, a weak half-smile trying to find a place on his lips. “Draco, don’t. It’s okay, really.”

“Harry—” Once again, Draco halted, and his gaze skittered away again. His brows met in consternation. When he looked back, his face was grim. Harry let himself have one more fleeting thought of what it would feel like to run his fingers through the smooth blond hair.

“No, it’s alright. Draco, I don’t want it if… if it’s not real.”

Harry looked at the other boy for a long moment and then turned and followed Ron and Hermione up the stairs. He felt a heavy weight lift unexpectedly from his chest, but instead of making him feel lighter, it made him ache with a hollowness he’d only felt during the war. As if he were missing something vital.

But, Harry knew with a sick sense of familiarity, even that would fade in time.

* * *

 _Step 30: Move on_

 _Gryffindor Common Room, 6:26 PM_

Harry sat in front of the fire with Hermione, playing a game of Muggle checkers. Hermione was winning handily, but he could see she was trying not to. She’d been not-so-slyly avoiding her inevitable victory until Harry gently told her he would never speak to her again if she didn’t take that bloody obvious chance to jump four of his pieces at once.

Dinner had been earlier than usual, and very filling. The Great Hall was full of the remaining students and their families, and the vast room seemed to glow with an extra shimmer as a result. Harry had allowed himself one cursory glance around the hall, but it was easy to see that, while Blaise and Pansy sat quietly eating at Slytherin table with their families, Draco was not there.

Afterward, everyone had said their goodnights and trooped back to their respective rooms for the evening. The Weasleys, with the exception of their parents, had been set up in the empty dorms of Gryffindor, and now the twins were sitting in the corner drinking eggnog with Seamus and Neville. As far as Harry knew, Bill and Charlie had gone out to play some Quidditch with Ron, Ginny, and several others, though how they planned to see the Quaffle in this light was questionable.

The room was warm, especially over by the fire, but there was a nice cool whiff of breeze from the half-open window. Seamus’s voice came over the chatter of the other students in the room.

“Lord, you have no idea how good it is to have you two back. There’s just no life in the old place anymore.”

“What, Ginny’s not living up to our legacy?”

“Not even remotely. She tries, but it’s just not the same. I was a little worried I’d have to face my family tomorrow without some sort of fun image to take my mind off the boredom. You know, like never-ending fireworks in the front hall, or dirty messages in Christmas lights over the portrait holes or something.”

“We could always turn Neville into a canary again.”

Neville huffed slightly. “No, thank you. I’ve had quite enough of that.”

There was a sharp cry outside, and Harry glanced up to see Hedwig flying in through the open window. She held nothing in her claws. The snowy owl alighted on his outstretched arm and sidled up to his shoulder, giving him a hoot and a gentle head-butt. Harry found himself smiling as he stroked her feathers. Hermione watched passively, a sad smile on her face.

“How did you know I needed someone?” Harry whispered. Hedwig nuzzled her round head into the crook of his neck and ruffled her feathers. Harry fed her bits of toast and bacon until she settled into a gentle doze.

An hour later, when Hermione had beaten him at checkers a further five times, Harry waved away her plea for “just one more, I’m sure you’ll win this time, Harry” and headed up to his room. He was tired, just bone-weary, and he still had presents to deal with. It took him a little over an hour to successfully charm wrapping paper around the various gifts and walk them down to the brightly twinkling Christmas tree in the Common Room. He stood staring at the heaps of gifts from his housemates for a moment, pondering the mystery that always niggled at him: how did they manage to get from there to the foot of everyone’s bed overnight? Maybe the house elves had something to do with it. The idea struck him as marginally funny: it was so close to the Muggle idea of Santa Claus that it made him wonder about the legendary workshop elves for a second.

Once back in his room, Harry took out the last gift, the one he hadn’t put under the tree: the dragon Snitch. He turned the small gold-wrapped box over in his hands. He could take it back tomorrow, providing the stores were open in Hogsmeade. Or he could just wait another day.

Or he could give it to Draco anyway.

Harry sighed, knowing that that was probably the most painful, and the most correct, answer of all. This gift had nothing to do with getting Draco to like him. He’d purchased it without even thinking of that, and had wanted him to have it because it was so… Draco. Like when the Slytherin was flying: easy, relaxed, beautiful. And no strings attached. It was a gift in the purest sense of the word.

Harry ripped off the tag saying who it was from, found his school cloak, and placed the small parcel in one of the pockets. He’d go down the next day first thing and give it to him in person when he found him. He didn’t want to think of it as a parting gift, but essentially that’s what it was. Because Harry had found he couldn’t handle a friendship stemming from pity, or some sense of duty, or even apology. He’d had Draco, the real Draco, for over a week, and he just could not go back to anything less. He’d rather not be friends with him at all.

Feeling slightly lighter but no less hollow, Harry went back down to the Common Room. The Quidditch players had returned, flushed and breathless, and everyone was laughing and sharing cocoa by the fire. Harry joined them with a smile and managed to forget about his problems for the few hours until bed.

* * *

 _Christmas Morning_

 _Gryffindor boys dormitory, 3:25 AM_

The sound of Harry’s name being called tugged him up out of unconsciousness. It was muted, fuzzy in his sleep-drenched ears. He rolled over and burrowed under his blankets, trying to shut out the noise and drift back into the state of nothingness that had been soothing him.

“Harry!”

He groaned, heard Ron do the same from across the room. “What the bloody hell…? Seamus, shut the fuck up.”

Seamus’ voice, cross and drowsy, sounded through the wonderful barrier of quilts over Harry’s head. “Piss off, Ron, it wasn’t me.”

His name was called again in a more desperate tone, and Harry heard Ron sit up. “Who the hell’s yelling then?”

“Come on, Potter, open the damn window!”

There was a beat of stunned silence, then a frantic scrabbling as Ron disentangled himself from his sheets and dashed to the window. He made an outraged sound and shoved it open.

“Bugger off, ferret! I thought I made it clear he doesn’t want to talk to you!”

“Oh, do shut up, Weasley! If I wanted to get _your_ attention I’d’ve chucked a bag of Galleons at the window.”

Ron growled. “You could toss half your estate and all your blue willow china up here and I _still_ wouldn’t let you talk to Harry!”

Another window squealed open further down the wall and the sleep-muddled voice of a girl was heard. “Draco Malfoy, what in Godric Gryffindor’s name do you think you are doing? It’s half-three in the morning!”

An exasperated groan sounded from outside. “Oh, shove off, Granger. Where’s Harry?”

Neville sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “My God… and some of us thought we would be getting sleep tonight… Harry, maybe you’d better—”

Ron spun around, anger apparent on his face. “Good Lord, no! Harry stays where he is, warm and comfortable _in bed!_ He’s not going to give that bloody wanker the SATISFACTION!” The last bit was directed out the window.

Draco’s rejoinder floated up to them. “At least _my_ wanking actually gives me some, you stuffed prude!”

Seamus laughed so hard he toppled out of bed and hit the floor with a loud thud. “Oh, Harry, if you do it for no other reason, _please_ go over and talk to him so I can get a good laugh before the family reunion from hell tomorrow.”

Harry got up from his bed slowly, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, and padded over to where Ron stood shouting vociferously out the window. He nudged his friend gently aside and looked out.

Draco was standing on the flat rooftop of one of the minor towers below Gryffindor in his green coat, knit cap, and gloves. The moonlight shed a silvery glow over his head and shoulders, throwing half of his body into stark relief, the other half into darkness. He was clutching the handle of his Firebolt in one hand, and there was something Harry couldn’t make out lying in a cleared patch of snow near his feet. The Slytherin was in mid-insult when he caught sight of Harry.

“Harry.” Even in the moonlight, Draco’s face was clearly relieved. “Harry, please, I really need to talk to you.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the sleep from them. “So, you come wake up my entire house to do that? It’s the middle of the night.”

Draco clenched his jaw. He looked nervous. “Yes, it’s sort of… necessary. Can you come down here?”

Ron broke in. “Bloody hell, Malfoy, it’s a fucking ice-box out there! What are you trying to—”

Harry grabbed Ron’s shoulder and shook his head wearily. “Hang on. Just for a moment.” Turning back to the window, he leaned out, squinting against the icy wind. “Why exactly should I come out there?”

Draco spread his hands as if it were obvious. “I want to talk to you is all.”

Harry sighed. He looked sadly out at the other boy. “About what? What could we possibly have to talk about, Draco?”

“Harry, for God’s sake…” Draco trailed off, looking extremely agitated. He lifted a hand to his forehead and began to pace. Harry saw his lips moving and realized with some surprise that the Slytherin was cursing steadily under his breath. Suddenly Draco stopped and looked up, eyes darting over the opened windows of Gryffindor tower, the students peering out at him. He looked back at Harry and his shoulders slumped… then straightened.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Draco said, loudly and clearly. “I was a complete and utter bastard and I fucked up royally! I’m sorry that I was so selfish, and I know I’m always selfish. And I’m sorry I acted like such a prick.” Draco dropped his hands to his sides with a sigh, frame drooping slightly. “But the worst thing is that because I was such a selfish prick, I hurt you, and I didn’t want to do that. And I’m standing here _hating_ myself because of it.”

Harry blinked. He stared at Draco, who was now looking back at him pleadingly, and then realized he had forgotten to breathe. He inhaled slowly and glanced at Ron, expecting to see him fuming. Ron’s mouth was hanging open, eyebrows almost at his hairline, eyes bugging out of his head. Harry looked at Draco again and saw that sadness had swept his features, wiping out the hopeful look. The Slytherin bit his lip.

“Hang on,” Harry said softly. “I’m coming down.”

He didn’t wait to see what effect that had, but shuffled back to his bed and picked up his cloak where he’d draped it over his trunk. He slung it around his shoulders and pulled his shoes on, picking up his gloves and hat. His Firebolt stood in the corner, and he hesitated for just a moment before grabbing that as well and going over to the window. Ron was watching him, a concerned frown on his face.

“Harry, I don’t know about this,” he said, shaking his head. Harry gripped his hand and then pulled his hat and gloves on.

“It’ll be alright. I’m only going down for a minute.”

With some finagling, Harry pulled himself up onto the window ledge and crouched there, tucking his billowing cloak behind him. He positioned his broom, took a deep breath, and kicked off the stone ledge. The Firebolt dropped a few feet and was buffeted by the wind before he got it under control. For a moment, he was tempted to just fly, let himself go, feel the wind in his hair and know that up there, no one could touch him. But Draco’s words resounded in his head and he turned, coasting down to the rooftop and coming to a rest beside the Slytherin.

“What?” he asked softly, shivering a bit from the cold. Draco sighed and closed his eyes for an instant. He seemed to be gathering himself. Finally, he looked at Harry pointedly.

“Look, Weasley was right, even though I’d never tell him that. I’m a complete arse. And I realize you already know that, and I also realize that I’ve done nothing to deserve you flying down here in the middle of the night to listen to me. But I am sorry for what I did.” He pulled his hat off and shook his head, running fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t blame you at all if you told me to go stuff myself, or if you never wanted to speak to me again. But I couldn’t just sit there and… and not…”

He stuttered into silence, grimacing, and looked away. Harry watched the wind ruffle his silvery hair, making it glow whiter in the light. The boy looked like he was made of finely sifted snow, or sugar. The smooth planes of his face were ethereal in the moonlight.

“What brought about this change of heart?” he asked softly.

A small sad smile quirked the corners of Draco’s mouth. “It seems my friends know me a little better than I know myself.”

Harry cocked his head, and Draco sighed. “Pansy. Always knew everything about me, up until the war. Apparently she still does, no matter how much I argue it.”

Harry smiled faintly. Draco went on. “But it was really Blaise.”

“What?” Harry said, surprise raising his voice into a squeak.

Draco scruffed a hand through his hair again. “I’ve never been yelled at by him before. I don’t think he really would have chanced it before, though, either. But last night he made up for lost time.”

“Blaise did?” Harry whispered, not quite meeting Draco’s gaze.

“Yes, the bloody bastard shouted me through the wall. Pansy actually came by to ask what was wrong. But I deserved it. And I think I knew it then, because I let him yell.”

Harry swallowed. Draco hunched his shoulders and looked out over the snow-blanketed grounds. They stretched for miles, pure white and glistening. Harry thought maybe he was supposed to say something, but he couldn’t quite form the words coherently in his mind. It was so much all of a sudden, so close to what he wanted to hear that he had to remind himself it wasn’t a dream. But it was too cold to be a dream, even a nightmare, after all.

Draco took another breath and went on. “Look, Harry, I don’t… I’m not used to being so open with someone. But you bloody well bring it out in me, and for a long time I hated that. Blamed you for dragging it out into the open. I mean, you constantly managed to find me at my worst. You put up with me practically telling you to go to hell that day in Hogsmeade, and you walked in on that letter, and then you fucking dragged me out of the castle! I was ready to hit you so many times this last week… I mean, how the hell did you know exactly where to go, and when? And _then_ , to top it all off, you were _nice_ about it. It was sickening. You listened and you made me talk, and I just… wanted to scream afterward, thinking about it.”

Harry looked at the snow, at the castle spires, anything. He couldn’t believe he was about to be told off again out in the cold on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day, really. But Draco suddenly put his hands on his shoulders and turned Harry to face him. “But the truth is I… needed it. I’ve never slept so well since the war. I’ve never felt so… comfortable around anyone. I’ve never fought it so fiercely. And I’ve never… enjoyed myself so much.”

Harry looked at him, eyes wide. Draco bit his lip and frowned. Harry felt a shivering in his shoulders and realized with shock that the other boy’s hands were actually shaking. He opened his mouth but the Slytherin shook his head. “No, wait a moment, I have to say this or I never will.”

He took a deep breath. “Harry that night… the Yule Ball… that wasn’t a mistake. And I feel ashamed of myself for telling you it was. It was… the most soul-tearing night I’ve had in a long time. Probably since the last battle. I don’t think I knew how to handle that again, not in front of someone else. No, that’s not exactly accurate; I didn’t know how to handle it around anyone but you. I panicked. I just… I can’t explain it. But that… kiss… was _not_ a mistake.”

Harry’s throat was closing up. He swallowed again, not trusting himself to speak. Draco raised his hands, then stopped, frowning vaguely. He pulled his gloves off and shoved them into one of his pockets, then took Harry’s face gently in his bare hands. His skin felt incredibly warm to Harry’s cheeks and he sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

“Harry, look, I’m no good at this. I’m just a bastard at heart. But I don’t _want_ to not be friends with you. It’s only been nine days, and I couldn’t even handle _one_ knowing that you were furious with me! And the idea that it was my fault, that Pansy was right and I’d just ruined the best thing that’s happened since… God, I don’t know when… I wanted to kick myself. I got scared, that’s all! You do things to me that I can’t…”

He stopped and looked helplessly at Harry. The Gryffindor pulled his own gloves off and covered Draco’s hands with his own. He smiled sadly at him.

“Draco, I don’t want you to force anything. I don’t want to be the cause of anything that makes you upset, or angry… or regretful.”

Draco laughed, a smile breaking over his face. “Harry, you imbecile, you aren’t! You make me _not_ regret.”

He brushed his hands through Harry’s hair, and then stopped, furrowing his brow. “And you’re freezing, aren’t you?”

Harry shook his head, but his chattering teeth gave him away. “We could… we could go up to my room. It’s warm and I don’t think Ron would—”

Draco took his hands from his face and stepped back, and for a moment Harry was worried he’d said something wrong. But the Slytherin only bent down and grabbed the weird shapeless package off the ground. “No, I’ve got a better idea.”

Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Draco began ripping the brown paper and twine free. Draco paused and glanced at him. “Take off your cloak, Harry.”

“What—”

“Just trust me.”

Harry hesitated a beat, then shrugged his cloak from his shoulders, holding it to his body and shivering more violently. The paper finally fell away in Draco’s hands. The Slytherin gave the bundle a shake, unfurling a long heavy coat. He swept it up around Harry’s quaking shoulders and pulled it tightly closed. Harry looked down in disbelief.

The coat was a rich full red color, and softer than anything he’d ever felt before. He gingerly put his arms through the sleeves, relishing the texture against his skin. Draco’s white fingers found their way to each button – black polished wood – and fitted it through its hole. Harry looked up at him, his throat constricting. “Draco—”

“Wait a moment, look…” The Slytherin began rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s arms slowly. When he took them away, the color of the fabric shimmered to a dark green, then back to red. “I charmed it to… change when I touched it.”

Harry stared at the other boy. Draco glanced away, embarrassed, and then met Harry’s eyes again. “Sort of a risk, but…”

Harry shook his head wordlessly and began digging through the pockets of his cloak. Finally he found the small package. He thought he’d know what to say when he handed it over, but in the end he gave it to Draco in wordless silence, hands shaking. Draco carefully divested it of the gold paper and opened the box. Surprise crossed his face and he reached in, pulling out the golden Snitch. It rested in his hand for a moment, then unfurled its wings delicately, revealing the intricate design engraved into the gold. The moonlight caught the bronze lines and made them shine deep icy green. Draco looked closer and his mouth dropped open.

“Harry… this is amazing.”

Harry shrugged shyly in his new coat, feeling heat flushing his cheeks. “What can I say? You’re on my list.”

Draco studied him for an infinite moment, eyes bright. Snow began to fall lightly and soundlessly around them. A slow smile climbed over the Slytherin’s face. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Harry looked at him uncertainly. “From the beginning?”

Draco frowned and laughed a little. “Oh, I hope not. I was thinking specifically of this.”

He slipped one arm around Harry’s waist and guided him gently forward, tilting his head and meeting Harry’s lips with his own. Harry gasped at the contact, and suddenly he’d pulled himself against the other boy, and the kiss was deeper and he was lightheaded. It was wonderful. Harry moved his hands up to Draco’s face, feeling the warmth there.

“Alright!” came a yell from somewhere up in Gryffindor tower, accompanied by a long wolf-whistle. “Way to go, Harry!”

Draco pulled away, frowning at the highest window. Harry followed his gaze and laughed. “Oh, shut up, Seamus!”

The Gryffindor was practically hanging out over the ledge, a joyful smile on his face. Harry could see Ron watching from behind him, Hermione grinning a few windows down. Draco sighed and stuck two fingers up at Seamus. “Bloody hell, fuckwit, you’ve got the timing down to a fine art, haven’t you?”

Seamus only laughed again. Harry turned Draco’s face back to his. “It’s alright. My turn, anyway.”

He pulled Draco into another kiss. The Slytherin wrapped his arms around him tightly, pressing their bodies together. Harry parted his lips and Draco took the invitation, and there was so much warmth. Harry sighed, running his fingers through the snow-flecked blond hair. It was indeed as soft as it looked.

“Amazing,” Draco whispered in between kisses. Harry opened his eyes dreamily.

“What is?”

“Christmas actually means something now.”

Harry laughed and pulled Draco in again. “Are you bloody joking? Best Christmas ever.”

The snow tumbled softly around them, but the cold was nowhere to be found.

~THE END~


End file.
